I have a Handel aria from Semele stuck in my head today. The opening lyrics are:

O, sleep, why dost thou leave me?

Why thy visionary joys remove?

AJ is not sleeping. I am not sleeping. I am not working. I am a zombie. They could make a B movie about me, Momzilla, half mom, half alien, fueled by caffeine and Girl Scout cookies. Turn on the whining and watch her explode in a blast of green protoplasm left dripping from the screen. Go ahead. Just try to ask me what�s for dinner.

Ahem. Where was I? Ah, yes. George Friderich Handel. Sublime. Though I�d happily trade in any �visionary joys� for some good solid rest.

My day has been filled with conversations like this one:

�Sweetie, could you pour me a glass of that stuff?�

�What stuff? The orange juice?�

�No, no. The clear stuff. In the pitcher.�

�Oh, you mean WATER?�

Given the scintillating content of the above, I think I�ll spare you all one of my long entries today. I hope to be back in the saddle tomorrow.

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