exhaustion is the cheapest drug

Stella's going for the world record in the three A.M. nosebleeds category. Three nights and counting. Parenting in a stupor can be fun. With ample TV time.

One of the cafeteria managers on the nutrition committee thinks she has my number. Cocked her jaded head to one side and accused me of owning chickens. Almost, I said. I'm thinking about it. She implied I'm wasting my time if I think I can rid the school of hot pink Trix and milk and cream cheese. I should see the kids loading up on snacks after school at 7-Eleven, she told me, crossing her large freckly arms across her chest. Or watch the middle school kids at Starbucks. She was certain the kids would not go for it, and was there when they raised hell the day the soda machines were removed. It was one of those moments where I couldn't quite register that she was not playing for the same side, so I just nodded vigorously and agreed that of course the kids would do everything she described. I did not remind her in not-so-subtle tones that 7-Eleven and Starbucks are not accountable for educating the children of our community. I did not ask her why the inmates are in charge of the prison. I did not ask her if she would think about a crackhead in place of a junk-food-addicted child. Would she care that the addict wouldn't like it if she took away his pipe? But in my car driving away from the meeting, oh you know I gave her hell. I did. The next meeting is not until January. I'm too tired to start a petition, but maybe one day...

And now I can't concentrate any longer, my head is about to explode because Hamish is whining for something exciting to do, with a half hour left till dinner, which I still have to cook. Help me in the kitchen. How about that, kid?