The kids are half dressed. We ate the first meal of the day at 10:30 ("Brunch!" I try to tell myself encouragingly). Will has been sleeping like he is part of a torture system designed to break me. Taxes are due. I cannot download the DC tax forms. Doing it will be complicated anyway since Brig's employer (the Federal Government) waited months to record the change in residence from DC to Va, so we have improper withholdings in each state). I am terrible at math. I am hopeless with computers. I am not allowed to be on the computer when my kids are awake, under penalty of toddlers destroying it. Will constantly smells like he is rotting. This is because his tube is. His tube that won't stay closed and spills stomach contents all over him and the house, which now smell like they are rotting, too. I want to pull the tube out, but I know this is only to help give me an outlet to my frustration with it so I don't since i know it is best for Will to smell like he is rotting and spill stomach contents on everything and soak all of his clothes and have to be changed every few hours because at least he gets fed. So instead I vented by calling the tube a "freaking tube!", which at least had the benefit of making Andrew laugh and then led to a teaching moment when he asked me if freaking was a bad word. I told him it was. He told me that I should just take a deep breath. I guess that was teaching moment #2.