So.

It's one thirty on a Wednesday afternoon and nobody is sleeping. 
In an act of desperation, I've decided to go for the on-side kick.  
We're down in the basement riding tricycles and ride on toys while listening to "New York, New York".     'Cause that's just how we roll. 

Today has been something else. 
One of *those* days. 
The day where you think the kids are doing pretty well (and you're out of milk, yogurt, cheese and bread), so you decide to go to Wegmans.  Here there is some general grumpiness, but nothing too crazy, so you think it just might be the day you need to push the envelope and get the boys haircuts. 
Wrong decision. 
One boy does great with the haircut.  The other, however, decides to tantrum and do snow angels in the hair clippings on the floor while screaming bloody murder. 
Making all the old ladies who, of course, are the only other people getting their hair done at 10 on a Wednesday morning , shake their heads and comment loudly (new hearing aide batteries, anyone?) that parents in this generation are just awful and young children are even worse. 

It was awesome.

I know that I can't chalk up Nate's behavior totally to his sleep apnea, which seems to be worse recently.  It's not also just because he's three or because of his Destructi-Nate tendencies.  Sometimes the kid is just a turkeybutt of immense proportions and is all I can do to manage. 
So now, the work that needs to get done isn't getting done before the other kids get home and all *you know what* really breaks loose with homework and the dynamics of having everyone in the house.  Stuff like laundry, having a kitchen table clean enough to sit down at and making dinner. 

Before I can  get anything done, though, I need to recover the ball. 
We'll see how it goes.