This morning I woke up with my son's feet in my face. It was 8:25am. Peter slept on the couch last night - we have no A/C and it's about 10 degrees cooler downstairs and he did not want feet in his face (and my BIL is in the guest room).
Peter actually woke me up at about 7am, puttering around and ZIPPING and UNZIPPING his suitcase about 100 times, getting ready for work, but 8:25 was when I finally decided to get out of bed. It was already 80 degrees in my bedroom. And I had feet in my face.
Will begged to stay home from camp today because he did not want to miss the soccer game (OH MY GAH I WILL BE SO HAPPY WHEN THIS WORLD CUP SHIT IS OVER) and I finally agreed.
I did a bunch of laundry, cleaned up cat vomit, cared for my child, and listened to Peter's brother snore, loudly, until 10:30am.
Peter came home at some point and he and his brother went to lunch. I was not offered any lunch. I could have totally used some lunch. I fed Will lunch. I did not eat lunch myself.
At 12:45 I dragged Will next door to go swimming. At 1:30 he demanded we go home because SOCCER WAS ABOUT TO START OH MY GAH.
I set WIll up in front of the TV with his cheesy poofs and lemonade and went back to the pool until 3:30. Then I took my sunburned ass home and got dressed and went to the airport.
I flew to Philadelphia. It was 102 degrees when I landed. I checked into the hotel and then I went to Qdoba for tortilla soup.
I was kind of hungry. Remember, I had no lunch.