Ask me for my work number and you'll get my home number and a dirty look.

I hate it when people ask me, 'do you work?'  Yes.  I work very hard. This week for example, Carter has pneumonia, Jack has an ear infection, they both have pink eye, Jack is teething, and neither of them are self-sufficient or potty trained or sleeping for that matter. Just to get kids up and dressed and medicated takes an act of congress, then the real fun begins. Jack takes bottles, Carter uses sippy cups, which means loading and unloading the dishwasher takes the better part of a day.  Entertaining two kids who are under house arrest and on conflicting nap schedules is a goat rodeo.  Meals are a nightmare. Carter is at that picky eater, everything has to be cut up and most ends up in his lap or on the floor stage; Jack is between baby food and finger food which means everything has to be cut up or pureed and most end up on the ceiling, walls, floor, in his hair, on his clothes or mine. Laundry, for the afore mentioned reasons, is staggering and I haven't seem my husband since August thanks to his hectic work schedule. The icing on the cake? The house is still on the market which means at the drop of a hat we could have a showing.  Sheesh. Do I work??  Heck yea I work! In fact, I'm thinking of getting a job in order to take a break from this madness.