So, a few weeks ago our washing machine broke. Broke in that our laundry room was flooded with water. E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E. Dave and I, being the handy-people we are, called to have someone come look at it and get a quote.

The guy showed up. Looked for a few minutes and informed us that the sealant was cracked and needed to be replaced. 15 minutes of work=$160.

We decided to get a second opinion.

The next guy showed up. Looked at it for a few seconds and informed us that a mosquito must have peed on the floor. Kill the mosquito=$0. We went with the second opinion. (Whose name happens to be Izak.)

Izak right before he pounced on the guilty mosquito

(Protecting himself (if you know what I mean) and others from temper tantrum-throwing moms)

I could see what was coming. A big, huge, fat, ugly melt down. I decided the best thing to be done would be to get the guilty party to go lay down and take a nap quickly before the volcano erupted that was beginning to boil inside.

So, that is exactly what I did.

I marched my grumpy, fit-throwing self straight to my bedroom.

Laid down on my bed.

And closed my eyes.

At 10:30 in the morning.

A few minutes later I heard little feet shuffling into my room. "I tired too Mommy." And Landon slipped himself into the sleeping bag that has permanently taken up residence next to my bed.

An hour and a half later Izak comes into the room. "Mommy, can I be all done with quiet time?" I look at the clock. 12:15pm. I tell Izak to go get ready for preschool. "Preschool?! At night?! I don't have preschool at night!"

(Because "normally" nap time is closely followed by dinner time which is closely followed by bed time. Except for times such as these. You know, when I'm about to freakishly freak out on my children for just being children.)