You may remember I wrote a post on Monday which seemed fairly organized and punctuated by semi-clear thoughts and only thirty-seven typos. Unfortunately, today’s selection will be headed the opposite route, recounting this week’s events in the only way a sleep-deprived brain can.

On crack. Coffee. Meth. Careful reflection.

The plague found Kellerman house this week, and things haven’t been pretty. Granted, the baby was sick a few days last week as well, but I watched A Simple Plan over the weekend, and was so enthralled by the stellar performance given by one Billy Bob Thornton, I blocked out the sleepless nights and rode the high only a well-executed screen play can bring.

Basically, everything’s been in upheaval, and all of the children have taken to a careful choice of crying, coughing in my ear, or not sleeping at all.

Me?

Oh, don’t worry about the dear old Editor. I’m fighting chills and the growing need to curl into the fetal position, with gummy vitamins, the last of the cinnamon whiskey, and a strong will to live. Semi-strong. Ok, mostly-strong. I didn’t play in traffic today.

I’ve had to call on my life’s motto,”Just keep the children alive until five,” quite a bit this week. Grogginess has set in, but here’s a snapshot of the fabulous activities the Split level has put on since Monday. (Please keep in mind the details are being recounted by a woman currently eating Frosted Mini Wheats out of the box and sipping coffee which should’ve been sent to the city’s water supply three hours ago.)

Monday: Cabin fever officially sets in. I turn to tell the baby about this new development, but he’s too busy clinging to my leg and weeping to really see where I’m coming from.

I go eat a red Holiday Oreo.

Tuesday: On absolutely no sleep from the night before, and because I fear not being able to use “punctuality” as my middle name anymore, I decide to finish the cabinet-painting project I started in November.

I finish two doors before the baby gets up and re-attaches to my leg. The Oreos are almost gone.

Wednesday: The baby sleeps through the night. Sundance, however, decides to get up at the convenient hours of 1am, 2am, 3am, 4am, and 6am because her beloved Dora nightlight was lost in some unfortunate event crafted by the now-healthy baby hiding it somewhere.

I paint two more doors. The Oreos are gone. Thankfully, the liquor store is open until 10pm.

Thursday: It’s still unclear whether I actually fell asleep or not, but I awoke to the sounds of Husband hurling expletives at an empty kitchen, so things, unlike the sun, were already looking up.

At breakfast, it’s discovered that a now-sick Sundance was extremely serious when she woke me up, demanding chocolate milk at 3am.

I clean chocolate milk off the newly painted cabinets. Later, Husband informs me he found the fridge and jug of milk open and hopes it hadn’t gone bad. I inform him it was already divided amongst the children, so we’ll know soon enough, but that his information would’ve been helpful much earlier on in the day.

*Let it be noted here, the Dora nightlight was found during the construction of this post, and the author is hoping against hope this means a full night’s sleep

Friday is pretty much a crap shoot at this point, but I’d say, if the gummy vitamins hold out, I may just be able to drag myself into 2014.

Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com, and is the author of . You can reach her at .