Like I said, my visit to my friend's was quite an experience:


My daughter got her hand stuck to a sticky mouse trap, and trying to get it off was an effort.

The bed rail came off while I was on the bed getting ready to nurse my son. Got around to fixing it a while later.

Instead of outpatient, P ended up being inpatient.

I turned on the oven to bake something, pizza left there burned, dripped, set off the smoke alarms, alerted the security company and the fire department. I got to speak with a real, live fireman.

Visited my friend while managing a 2 1/2 year old and a 5 month old, driving back and forth for naps and not having a needed schedule, resulting in cranky children and haggard mother.

I did some laundry, went to dry it, found a not so clean rug in a dirty dryer. Lugged the broken vacuum down, and wrestled with it to vacuum out the dirt.

My children didn't sleep very well (though that's not unusual) and robbed me of sleep.

My husband came to give me relief from children. (Another reason I love him.)

Argued with Kashi about going upstairs or coming down, going outside or coming in.

Became increasingly disgusted with the treatment P received from that hospital. And I thought she'd be safer there. What a misconception that was.

P and I got to see our favorite movie, "Independence Day," and played a few games of Phase Ten Dice.

I was there to be with P and give her support. And it was worth it. I'd do it all again. Except I'd bring my own vacuum.