Crazy Nights

Working with Down Syndrome guys is always a challenge. The latest iteration: using 50+ sheets of toilet paper per bathroom visit, totally clogging the pump and causing total backup. So I spent last night picking up the dog bed (wet with effluvia) to try and wash/deodorize/rescue the thing. Then, on to disinfecting the entire lower floor with bleach solution. Meanwhile, the boys sit and sing along with Shania Twain or play PS2. This whole time, the dying battery in the carbon monoxide detector is causing a loud chirp about every 15 seconds. Then the boys won't go to bed. Is it any wonder I have a headache? No, the wonder is that my parents aren't in a rubber room somewhere. I think back to the time I stayed up reading. My flashlight batteries were dead, so I put the desk lamp reeeeeaaaal low and hoped it'd be invisible. Well, in short order, I was soon smelling smoke, so I woke my parents figuring better safe and yelled at than sorry and spanked really really hard. The mattress was burning -- from the inside out. It's a miracle that we survive our childhoods. It's a miracle our parents survive our childhoods. After all, if it gets too bad here at work, I can always flip burgers instead.

Thanks, mom. Thanks, dad. I love you.