This Post is Brought to You By My Fourth Pot of Coffee

Wow. Is it really November?

Which, let's face it, in Retail Nazi terms means, IT'S CHRISTMAS, GIVE US YOUR PLASTIC. Ugh.

My dad came into town for a few days last week and gave me so much time to myself that by the end of the second day, I could barely remember the girls names. Or their birthdays. Or the fact that I had children at all.

I shopped. I drank lattes at odd hours of the day. My girlfriends and I ate sushi sans children, without once having to say things like, "Sit down. Sit. SIT. Sit down. SIT. ON. YOUR. BOTTOM," or "Take that spoon out of your underwear right now."

All while my dad, like a little House Elf, went around fixing things I didn't even know were broken. I came home and suddenly that door didn't stick anymore, that baby gate got remounted, all my dishes - and I mean even the dirty ones, in the dishwasher - were organized by size and shape.

It was wonderful.

Now he's gone, I've resumed my role as the kids' Designated Activity Coordinator, and I confess it feels equal parts lonely and exhausting. It's funny, you get so used to doing everything yourself, then you get a break and suddenly you realize that you've literally been too tired to realize how tired you are.

Oh, and Daylight Savings Time is not helping. Kitt is so messed up by it that she sprouts devil horns at 4:45PM, and is down for the night by 5:00.

And of course, early to bed means dear-lord-you-cannot-possibly-be-awake-I-still-hear-crickets-it's-too-damn-early to rise.

Mommy officially needs a caffeine IV. Maybe I should put that on my Christmas list.