Let's knock this out quickly. I have an unopened bottle of fresh NyQuil sitting in my lap, waiting for the signal. My sinuses are only barely involved in whatever this crud is, but the sore throat, deep chest cough, and crackle in my breathing are quite enough to warrant it, thank you. If I post and then immediately take the NyQuil, I should be sound asleep right after the SNL opening monolog.
Today was productive. Family came over, and while grandpa entertained big kids, daughter, Avery, and I walked a few more blocks for the GOTV. I have fewer than 45 addresses left. I wish I had finished a week ago, but life kept getting in the way.
We kept the kids until their daddy was off work. It's the first time back into the groove, and we are rusty. (Read that with an over-dramatic sitcom delivery.) I am covered in baby spitup. The house isn't too torn up, other than the dumped out Chex mix on my bed. If I'm lucky a dog will have already cleaned that up. After holding ephemeral Avery, picking up Dmitri is like deadlifting a 55-gallon barrel of crude oil. Our man is solid. In a few weeks, juggling all three will be child's play (pun intended), but for now it is a challenge.
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