Being a Farmer is Gross

(Please enjoy these entirely unrelated pictures of our little town's fall festival that we went to this past weekend.) 


"Hello, Pediatrics Nurse Line, this is April, how can I help you?"


"Hi, April, I have a question, that I don't know if you know the answer..." I trail off.

"Oh," said April brightly, "I'll try."

I took a deep breath and went on:

"Okay, here's the thing: Our chickens have round worm. The kids, all of them, have handled the chickens before we KNEW they had worms. According to Dr. Google, people can get round worms pretty easy. Do I need to deworm my children?"

"Oh," said April, less brightly, "I'm not sure about that."



After making sure she had my correct information, she hung up, promising to call back after talking to our pediatrician.


In case you're wondering, every single inhabitant of our little farm has now been dewormed.




Every.

Single.

One.

The medicine tastes like a disgusting banana smoothie.

In the Wee Small Hours

She started out in her own bed last night, like many nights. By midnight though, she was not having it anymore.

I bring her into bed with me to attempt some sleep.

She reaches over, yelling out in her half-sleep for me. I lean over and try to comfort her with her binky and a gently squeeze. She yells again. Thus begins the next three hours of hazy, half-awake nurse for two seconds, binky for two seconds, yell, nurse for two seconds, binky for two seconds game. At 3:30, I finally get frustrated enough to wake up enough to deal with this on a deeper level.

I stumble around the bedroom, while Derek wakes up and keeps her from falling out of the bed. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"She needs medicine." I say back. Can I find the liquid tylenol or motrin? No. That would be silly. I know we have a bottle of each... where the heck are they? I search. She screams. It's fun.

Miriam is almost a year old. She has no teeth. I assume anytime she behaves this way, therefore that she is teething. I have yet to be right, but ONE OF THESE DAYS I'M GOING TO BE VINDICATED!

Finally, I find a bottle chewable tylenol. One tablet for a two-year old? Fine. She can have half. I break it in half and am grateful it's one of those melt-away kinds, because remember she has no teeth.

She thinks this is delicious and wonderful.

I sit with her feet on my lap, binky in mouth as she starts to doze. Then suddenly, her eyes fly wide open and she starts babbling and kicking her feet. Huh?

Oh. I give her a sniff. She now needs a new diaper. Great. Thanks kid. That's just perfect. I don't have any diapers up in my room because I'm not accustomed to middle-of-the-night-stinkies. We, using my flashlight app make our way toward the living room.

As we pass Henry and Oliver's room, I see Oliver sitting up in his bed. Weird for 4am. Sometimes though he sits up and lays back down in his sleep. I pause to see what's up. He looks right at me. "I need new pants." Then I smell what he means.

Truly bizarre, Oliver NEVER wets the bed. Well, never say never. I set Miram down on the floor and she yells at me because, hello, she has needs here. I help Oliver into dry clothes and strip and remake the bed. Miriam cries. Henry sleeps through entirely. Amazing.

We make our way downstairs, and I realize the situation is much worse than I thought. She needs new pajamas too. Much complaining as I set her down to hunt some up. Finally, she is clean, my hands are clean, the dirty is put where dirty belongs.

I am dying.

She is AWAKE.

I take her back upstairs and realize it's cold in the boys' rooms because their windows are open. The last thing I want is awake boys at 4:00 because they are chilly. I shut the windows, thrilled to see Oliver has gone back to sleep.

Into bed we go, she kicks me. She nurses. Binky. Nurse. Binky. I look at my phone. It's after 4:15 now. Then 4:30. Then 5:00.

Finally, either she gets tired or maybe that medicine I gave her kicked in, I don't know. She sleeps.

In mere moments, but it actually over an hour, Derek's alarm goes off. Ezra comes in, needing attention, Miriam sleeps on. Thank goodness. I finally manage to crawl out from her, she had been using me a pillow of course, and find that Derek has already left for work. Sigh.

Now it's day, and I'm tired.

Everyone is awake, and I must fight the temptation to ignore everyone and let Netflix play on and on.

Good morning world.

Overwhelmed, that's what I am.

Random cute ice cream eating picture.

I'm  having a terrible time balancing my life.

Honest to to goodness. I can't believe how crazed I feel.

School is naturally a top priority, so I sometimes feel if 1. School is done 2. There is a meal on the table some time around dinner then I am successful.

Seriously low expectations.

There just isn't enough time in the day.

The house is (as you saw recently) frequently *ahemalwaysahem* a mess. It's usually clean under the clutter.
But still. Crap everywhere.

Everyone's yards, as Henry kindly pointed out yesterday are "more beautifuller than our's Mommy." Yes, child, I know. It's a LARGE work in progress.

Any amount of outside work equals the house staying a mess.

We've been doing a lot of outside work as of late.

Then there are classes/appointments/activities for the boys. I can't keep them straight. Spencer and Oliver missed their science class yesterday because I forgot about it.

Good grief, I suck.

Why do I suck so badly at finding the time and energy to get it ALL done? I haven't touched my novel in WEEKS because it's just so low on the list.

One claim to fame here is that you can ALWAYS find clean clothes. You just may have to dig for them.

Overwhelmed.

I need a maid/nanny/live-in helper.

You know, a Susan, like in Anne of Ingleside. I need a Susan.

Anyone want to apply for the post? It doesn't pay, but I'll treat you real nice!

In Which I Yell...

Dear World:

A foot A FOOT on March 19th. This is so deeply offensive.

THEN add to that a dead (and I mean DEAD) snow blower.

What does that mean?

(If you guessed, "I guess that means you had to shovel the driveway", then you could not be more WRONG.)

It means I'll be going nowhere until the darn snow melts. MELTS I say.

(Shovel? I'm sorry, I don't understand that. Come visit. See my driveway, THEN talk to me about shoveling.)

Then this morning, I was TRYING TO BE A NICE PERSON, so I betook myself (and the dog) outside at 6-frickin'-am to do his business, and clean off Derek's car. (BECAUSE I'M A NICE PERSON!) And I fell down ALL the stairs. (THERE ARE 8 OF THEM). Now, there is a strange numbness in a portion of my back.

I did not clean off Derek's car. I HAVE MY LIMITS.

And this darn winter is PUSHING THEM WAY BEYOND MY HAPPINESS.

I did not intend, when I came here today to gritch about the weather. BUT APPARENTLY THAT IS WHAT IS HAPPENING.

EVERYONE has a runny nose again. AGAIN. What is this, JANUARY?

Can someone please tell me, if it is possible for a two-year-old to poop in his SLEEP, because I declare that is what is happening. I thought you had to be awake to do so, but he is proving otherwise. EVERY SINGLE MORNING, Derek or I rush in there to catch him as he is waking to get him to the potty in time and EVERY SINGLE MORNING he is greatly distressed because he has ALREADY DONE HIS BUSINESS.

Pull-ups are NOT designed for that much BUSINESS if you know what I mean.

ALSO, the toddler and preschooler gave up naps last week AT THE SAME TIME. This is so rude I can not even explain it. BOTH OF YOU??? AT THE SAME TIME??

I want a vacay to somewhere warm and poo-free.

Love,
Morgan

Blood...oranges

To while away the winter (it snowed again yesterday, YES I am complaining), we have taken to fighting off scurvy through ingesting huge amounts of oranges.

BLOOD oranges are a new favorite. Why? Because they are dark red/purple and when you bite into them and let the juice go all over your face it looks like BLOOD.

And to little boys, this is straight up awesome.

And sticky.

It's gross, but it's been a long winter. We are in survival mode here people.

So, blood oranges? Pass 'em on down,

It's Still Winter.

I don't have a groove yet. Miriam is six months old, and usually by the time the baby is six months old I'm usually pretty comfortable with what we're doing... AND we're not there yet.

Maybe it's because of the move, Derek left when Miri was 8 weeks old, then single-mom-hood, then Christmas, then the move, then then then WINTER oh my heavens, my house is a disaster and there are children everywhere, and boxes remain in the basement (we pretend like those aren't there), and it's  just a bit of a zoo. 

I'm trying to get a routine going, and it's helping, but it is still WINTER and my goodness above, February is the longest month isn't it? I mean it's short to keep people from offing themselves, honestly.

So, since more snow is a'comin' we're just going to try to stick to our routine...kind of,  eat more homemade bread, and RUN and RUN and RUN.


Oh goodness.

An Outing in the Morning

We hadn't been to play ball at the good old rec center in months, not since long before Miriam came along. Summer meant more time outdoors, specifically at the park. So, it was time this morning.

See, my biggest challenge at this single-parenting thing (I have LOTS AND LOTS) is not wanting to murder my children when they get up before dawn for the day. They call this time "morning." I call it "insanity."

So, I've taken to setting my alarm for 4:45. I know. It's awful. But, that way I'm awake and up before they are.

In theory.

This morning, I was busy feeding Miriam breakfast at 4:45 so I was already awake. Then at 5:16 my children began making unearthly amounts of noise.

I was angry. I was desperately trying to get Miriam back down, they aren't supposed to noise until 6am, when the lamp (that is on a timer) comes on. My anger led me to ignore them until 6am, boilingly angry at the time.

Then when the light came on, I threw poptarts at them (I mean it, I chucked them at their heads) and hid in my room until 7am. But I was still angry. So, in a desperate attempt to NOT be angry all day, we went to play ball.

And it was fun. They ran and ran and ran.

Then, 35 minutes later, this was what they were doing:


This is what Miri thought of the entire ordeal:


Good times.

The New Normal

Our new normal began today.


(The boys making ninja costumes for their teddy bears. I do not give them these ideas. I merely supply them with what they need!) 

It totally sucks.

No, really. A lot.



(More ninja outfits.)

Derek departed in the darkness of predawn (before the boys got up, which would have made leaving even more hideous for him...) and I spent all day being horribly lonely.


(Derek took the car seats out of the Corrolla to make room for luggage, Ezra spent a solid hour buckling himself in and then making me let him out again.) 

Which is ridiculous because it's not like I've never been away from my spouse before.



(This baby chatted with her Daddy on Skype tonight. She was GLUED to his face on the screen the whole time. His voice was thrilling for her. She's a baby genius.)

But, knowing it'll be a good long while between now and the next time I see him... just made for a very lonely day.

His day, driving across I-80 was worse. It takes four days to drive from here to New Hampshire.

FOUR DAYS.

Poor guy.

But alas, we pull ourselves up by our boot straps and onward we go.

We've done the separation thing before. The longest we've gone (married) was four weeks. It almost killed us both. This time, he'll be home in three but then gone again, and so on for who knows how long.

At least we have Skype.

And so, tomorrow, I'll smile. I'll take care of the kidlets, and I'll pray, ceaselessly that my other half, my soul mate in this life and the next gets his butt to Gary Indiana (the second stop on his journey) safely.

Cuz I married him for a reason. I like him a lot. I'd like him to get there in one piece.

Somewhere in this new normal, Mama has to figure out when to shower...

Legit Concern

This is silly. 

This is my 5th baby.

You would THINK I had it all figured out by now.

I know the drill.

I know how this all works.

And yet.

Here I bounce on my yoga ball (I have NEVER used it for yoga) and I am plagued with worry.

What if I'm pregnant for another five weeks? Six?

I'm fairly certain I'll die.

See, all my kids have come just a day or two shy of that infamous "estimated due date" and well. What if THIS IS THE ONE that decides that 42 weeks is where it's at?

It's silly.

It's irrational.

But not entirely unrealistic.

I have told my own clients, "Babies come when they are ready" more times than should be acceptable...

And yet.

Here I bounce, desperately afraid that I'll be birthing a 12 pound girl-wrestler in the beginning of September.

Did I mention that if that happens, I'll expire?

I wish I could forget about the calendar, forget about the dates, forget about the 28 days until I'm actually supposedly "due", because that would make it much much less obnoxious in general to be as pregnant as I am knowing full-well it could go on for A LONG TIME still.

But I can't.

Oh my gosh, what if this baby is born in September?

Phew

This week has been... painful.

The details are unimportant. Suffice it to say that in more ways than one, I have been stretched to the max this week. Bank accounts, employment, uterus, my stupid "smart" phone, sleep, illness, MORE illness, sleep (I'm certain I mentioned that), meals, automobile, it's just a lot.

It's just so much.

And if it gets hotter, Ima straight up die.

So much that I feel like 90% of the time in this week has been a mantra of "just keep swimming".

And I'm awful tired.

And sweaty and hot.

I haven't been this sweaty and hot since I was 9 months pregnant with Spencer (also an August baby) directing Theater Camp in the hot humid summer.

It's nasty. Shirts: I no likey.

But, there are shining moments of "Everything is going to be okay!" in the week too. Kind, generous friends, unexpected phone calls, splash parks and sprinklers, cute boys, fans, window a/c units, cool showers, cold pasta, popcicles, one night of Ezra sleeping through, an office where I can go to sew... it's all going to be okay.

Maybe not today. But tomorrow... probably.

Life is sweet, even when it feels like there are multiple levels of suck that I didn't know existed, it's NEVER all bad.

I mean, look at this naked pirate!!!

 

Life is beautiful when you've got cute, little naked pirates. Yes.

Today was a Difficult Day

Today was rough. I got frustrated with everyone and everything after a very trying afternoon of school.

I finally declared it done and said, "I'm going to do the dishes. Finish your writing and don't come up stairs when you're done. Just play down here." Then I stomped off to DO THE DANG DISHES.

A very (VERY) few minutes later Henry crept up the stairs. I *almost* snapped at him for being blatantly disobedient, but he mewed very demurely "Mommy?" so I didn't.

"What Henry?" I said.

"I made you these cards. One is me, you and Spencer and the other is you petting the dog." He left them on the (still dirty) counter and disappeared.

From March 2012

The day DID not actually improve as you might think it would after such a loving, kind-hearted display. The boys still fought with each other, didn't listen and just basically made me crazy. (They were beating on each other and stealing toys and and and !)

 But I clung to the hope that they wouldn't hate me forever for enforcing rules (NO YOU MAY NOT EAT SPAGHETTI IN THE FREAKING LIVING ROOM!) and telling them for Family Home Evening that "choosing the right means LISTENING WHEN MOMMY SPEAKS and not being little stinker butts!! THE END! GO TO BED!"

The day finally ended with Henry *accidently* stepping on Spencer's sensitive areas (so many tears) and two hours later when Ezra FINALLY went to sleep.

Now, I'm forgiving and forgetting. I have a game plan for tomorrow. It will be a better day.

And I'm thankful that they love me, even on horrid, hard days, when I wouldn't mind a vacay and they wouldn't mind a mom who let them run around naked with sticks (YES STICKS) a bit more often.

Plus, baby girl has the hiccups. And that's always a hoot.

Today was a difficult day. Tomorrow WILL be better.

More Whining (Feel free to skip this post)

In all this sickness, we've lost our flow. Meals have been toast and hot chocolate. Bedtimes have been all over the maps. Naps happen in arms or multiple times a day (depending on who you are). It's only Tuesday, but I feel like I've lost a week of my life!

The fevers have lifted, except for in my wee-littlest. He was up from 2-3 this morning while awaiting his medicine to kick in.

Then as he drifted back to sleep (ON MY PILLOW) I heard Spencer get up.

Spencer has taken to waking up in the 3:00 hour to sneak down and watch TV.

I was furious. Spencer and I have a tenuous relationship in the morning as it is. 6:00 is nearly impossible for him to wait for before leaving his room. Usually 5:30 is all I can hope for.

But 3:35? Sorry, Dude. I won't allow it.  And it's becoming a habit. I am unimpressed.  And please remember, once Spencer is up for the day, there is no going back to sleep. So is he's awake at 3:00 that's it. I'm screwed.

Thus began the battle royale over staying in your dang bedroom until there is a 6: on the clock.

I camped myself on a pillow with a blanket outside his room. Again and again I sent him in. I gradually moved to the couch around the 4:30 time frame.

About 5:30 Ezra (who needed to remain asleep having decided HIS bedtime last night was 9:30) was requesting my presence so I gave up and went back to bed. Within seconds I heard Spencer leave him room.

The battle was lost but I had stuck my ground for 2 hours.

And so our flow is REALLLLLLLY messed up. I'm beyond exhausted. Spencer is insanely whiny (YA THINK) as is Ezra (HUGE SURPRISE). People are snotty and coughing and generally disgusting.

 I am lacking serious motivation,and frankly all I want is for everyone to go away and let me nap. I don't care about the trashed house, the laundry, or anything really at all. I just want a nap.

Down and Out (Too Much Information?)

From Drop Box

 We have the plague.

I don't like it.

Mostly because my children keep acting like they are ALLLLL better. Then they vomit again or spike a fever. Or cry because they want popcorn at 8:30 in the morning.

I mean, we ALLLLL missed church and my grandma's birthday dinner yesterday because I decided to be polite and keep our digustingness to ourselves. I thought a day of quarantine would suffice. By yesterday late afternoon Spencer was happily eating a ho-ho and then proceeded to puke all over everything this morning again.

(sidenote: My children had never had hohos until yesterday. Spencer kept referring to them as "hohohos" and they thought they were awesome. My children are reaping the benefits of my pregnancy cravings. BUT hohos are disgusting. I was bitterly disappointed. I have high in the sky hopes for Little Debbie's swiss cake rolls though.)

Henry has been sick since well, Saturday (maybe Friday night?) and I can't figure out WHY he still has a fever. Still sick, that's for sure but WHY???

Ezra started this whole thing. He's still sick. I LOVE a baby who doesn't nap/sleep unless he's in my arms. It makes it HARD TO ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING.

And Oliver? So far so good. I'm waiting patiently for him to yak-a-doodle and finish us out real nice.

Aren't you glad you just read all that? Don't you wish you were here visiting? You're welcome to come over and stay a while. My dishes need doing afterall.

When Good Naps Go Bad

Oliver, my very very best napper has started skipping naps.
Sigh.

I don't have children like some of my friends do, that nap every day until kindergarten. Sometime after their second birthday all my babies give up the great institution of napping.

I'd never ever give it up if I was them.

Anyway, so Oliver is over 2 and a half and therefore my oldest napper.

Yesterday, yes nap.

Today, no nap.

That picture there is Christmas Day. He missed his nap in his bed because he was Skyping his Grandparents and about 3:00 all the excitement had caught up with him.

So, I'll watch his naps dwindle and fail and be on life support for a couple of months until I declare "Turn off the machines" and that'll be the death of the great Ollie-nap.

(We never call him "Ollie" by the way, but that just flowed real nice like. No, you may not call him "Ollie." Sorry.)

It's a sad truth. Sad indeed.

This is Brought to You by Migraine Medicine

Yup. Four Tylenol Migraine pills at 11:30pm. Terrible idea.

But what's a worse idea?

Sobbing into your husband's shoulder because your head has been hurting so badly all day that you accomplished absolutely nothing.

And it hurting so bad that you can't sleep.

Yeah, in the end, it was decided that NOT sleeping was the only option. I could either be awake and in misery, or awake due to serious amounts of caffeine in the migraine meds.

Yes, being awake and NOT in as much pain is much much better.

I have to tell you that yesterday was "pick up trash on our street" for our 12 Days of Service.

It was my favorite.

The boys were crazy about picking up the garbage. There was only about half a bag's worth, but every little wrapper was like a prize.

And when we found a pizza box? Spencer and Henry *might* have tackled one another in order to get in the trash.

With ten pounds on him, Henry beat out Spencer.

Spencer was not amused.

Like I said, it was my favorite.

Now it's nearing 1am, and I need to go down to the cold cold basement and figure out why it's only 63 degrees in my house when the thermostat is set to 67.

Oh my, try, dear friends to not be too terribly jealous of my exciting life.

High on migraine meds.

Cold house.

Calm down folks.

My Fingers

Now it's almost winter. Thanks to winter we all have *issues* in this house with dry...skin. Oh I hate the word "skin".

I will now spend the next 5-6 months slathering dry little parts with creams and lotions. It's a full-time job.

Henry: Face and hands
Spencer: Legs and backs of knees (you should SEE the backs of his knees...)
Oliver: Face and arms
Ezra: Hands, bum and legs
Derek: Hands
Morgan: Fingers

From November 2011

My poor, poor finger will spend the entirety of the cold weather season split and bloody. When I put the necessary bandaids on, everything gets wet and then I become quite concerned that my fingers are going to mold. It's very nerve-wracking. But if I don't cover them, then any bump[ or hit causes bleeding and ridiculous amounts of pain for the small-ness of the injuries.

It's embarrassing.

I've tried liquid bandages. No dice. First, it washes off. (Did you know I wash my hands approximately 22 times a day?) Second, it hurts so terribly to put it ON the open cracked skin that I get nauseated.

I've had four children with no drugs. I'd rather do that than glue my fingers back together. Pathetic huh?

So I keep buying bandages, and Oliver keeps opening them all and sticking them places and there you go. My winter, coming right at me.

Happy almost-December!

Here we go again.

From November 2011

What's this weird "6:00" on the wall? 

I'm glad you asked. 

It's our last-ditch, desperate effort to keep our children from dragging us from our bed at 4:30 am. I'm not kidding. No, I am not. 

We went and bought clocks for the children. We spent Family Home Evening discussion what a "6" looks like on the clock. And explaining that if they manage to keep it quiet until 6:00am, they earn a cotton ball each. When the jar is full of cotton balls, they win a prize. 

If they fail (oh they shall fail most spectacularly says the rare pessimist in me) they lose a cotton ball. 

We are desperate. 

And exhausted. 

And hating Daylight Savings Time so much that it makes me want to vomit. 

Try to understand: we are begging/bribing our children to stay in bed until SIX O CLOCK IN THE MORNING. This is very very pathetic. 

I'll keep ya posted. 

Depths of Despair

I am in the depths of despair (said in my best Anne-Shirley-esque voice).

Friends, I don't like to be a bummer. But can I just say that I can't take the mess much longer. I can't take the fact that my house has some sort of JK Rowling-Harry-Potter inspired curse on it wherein the box that gets unpacked magically reproduces into three NEW boxes.

I can't take that it seems to be be getting worse rather than better, despite my best effort.

I can't take that the daily tasks that MUST happen either happen and the boxes get ignored, or the daily tasks get ignored and boxes get opened. NEITHER ONE IS A GOOD OPTION.

I can't take the shrieking from my two year old.

I can't take that people require meals and clean underwear on a daily basis. The eating thing is constant.
I am terribly terribly tired of it all. I want to work on Christmas jammies and presents. I want to bake and educate my children and enjoy life again.

I know moving was a good move. I know it's a good thing, this new house. I am thankful. I'm just tired. And frustrated, And ignoring the dishes. Two sinkfuls.

Today I couldn't take the despair anymore. I quit unpacking boxes, I quit cleaning, I quit cooking. I laid on the floor in the basement while my children climbed all over me. Then I made peanut butter and jelly for dinner.

From November 2011

From November 2011

From November 2011

From November 2011

See? I'm okay.

Stupid Good Stupid Good

Today started out stupid.

Then it got good. 

Then it got real stupid again. 

Now it's good again.

Stupid:

Our new special car wouldn't start cuz it wasn't PLUGGED in. Ridiculous. 

Good:

WONDERFUL day of school. Trees, field guides, leaves and bark rubbings, oh my. Such fun. 

From October 2011

Stupid: The landlord stealing our garage door opener at the OLD house when I was there to attempt to empty the garage. This was supposed to be the last time we went to the old house!

So, Henry and I broke in to the garage. The drop was way too far from the window to the ground. Luckily we'd left the slide outside the garage the last trip, so I stuck it through the window and VIOLA! Instant fun. 

From October 2011

More stupid: Continued car trouble. Doors that wouldn't latch shut. Freezing cold children. Derek at work. My sweet sweet daddy driving 40 minutes to save us. 

Takes the cake stupid: The car simply needed a screwdriver shoved in the latch whilst holding the door handle up. Seriously?

Worst worst worst: Ezra screaming nonstop until his voice was basically gone for the entire 40 minute drive home. 

Good again: Hot chocolate with my kids and my dad after the car disaster. That was fun. And then to complete the night, Derek was home when we got there (a rarity!) and helped put tired grumpy babies to bed. I tried to cheer Ezra up with the baby in the mirror. He wasn't terribly interested at first. Then decided to be happy. All four babies fell asleep basically the moment their heads hit the pillows. 

From October 2011

From October 2011

Annnndddddd scene.  

See Morgan

From Drop Box

See Morgan.

See  Morgan run around.

See Morgan feed her children McDonalds.

A lot. 

See Morgan clean walls and carpets.

See Morgan steam clean bathrooms.

See Morgan realize the city utility workers exploded sewage into her bathroom. Again.

See Morgan weep. 

Weep Morgan Weep. 

See Morgan clean and clean. 

See Morgan's children track mud into the house. 

See Morgan threaten death. 

See Morgan spend Thursday-Monday at the old house. \

See Morgan sit. 

Sit Morgan sit. 

See Morgan ignore the boxes begging to be unpacked. 

See Morgan promise to unpack them tomorrow. 

See Morgan go to bed. 

Sleep Morgan sleep. 

Oh wait. 

See Morgan get up to tend Ezra in the night. 

Tired tired Morgan. 

(Writing my name that much makes it look WEIRD!)