Two bouts of COVID were more than enough. I learned my lesson—mask stays on

We headed to the courthouse this morning. 
Cowboy basically stripped in the parking lot. 
They’re super strict about what you can bring into the complex, and he didn’t want to have to strip inside. Cowboy carries a lot of metal and knives.
Badger and I made sure we had nothing on us before we left the house. 
Of course, I left my pocketbook and our phones in the car.

When we walked in, the woman at the metal detector said, “Oh, three banditos.” 
We had our masks on, of course, and I thought that was rude. 
She looked to be in her 80s, and honestly, she ought to be more worried about measles showing up in West Tennessee, not to mention Covid still hanging around.

In East Tennessee, some people act as though Covid never existed and treat Trump as king.

To our surprise, Badger’s nose ring passed through without a sound. 
We had half expected the alarms to go off.

We had no problem getting Badger excused from jury duty. 
Her doctor finally came through with a permanent excuse. 
I don’t know if he faxed it before we gave them our diagnosis letter or after.
The important thing is they now have it on record from two sources that she’s autistic. 
Hopefully, no more jury duty for her in the future.

On the way back, we stopped at Dunkin’ for coffee before heading home

Raven’s crew landed just a little before 1 p.m. 
Eins came down, and Zwei stayed home. 
I made him take them to the backyard.
Cowboy needs his before‑work nap. 
My job’s always been to look after him.
He came before kids or grandkids.
 I don’t like that he sleeps all the time, but he works hard.

They stayed outside until Cowboy woke up and went out to take care of the chickens.

The rest of the day they’ve been in and out. 
Mostly in.

Maybe the littles are tired from their vacation. 
It’s been unusually quiet so far. 
Fridays are usually not too bad. 
Saturday gets a little worse, and by Sunday, right before they leave, things get pretty wild.

Most of the time, Badger and I stay in our rooms; it keeps things calmer.
Raven runs hot these days, and the littles bring a kind of energy that never quits.
By Saturday night, everyone’s worn thin.
It’s just easier to keep to ourselves until Sunday evening, when the house quiets again.

I sent Raven a text at 9:30 p.m. asking if he was putting the littles to bed. 
The dogs hadn’t been out since noon. 
You can’t drag them through the living room with the littles in there; they yell and jump, and Lady in particular is very reactive.

Raven was in his bedroom. 
I came out once, and he was on his phone while the three littles were alone in the living room. 
They all looked like they were about to fall asleep, and we are not starting them back to sleeping in the living room.
I enjoy sneaking out after they’re all in bed and getting on my computer in silence.

He finally got them to bed around 10 p.m. 

Badger and I got the dogs out, and she slipped off to wash up

I’m happily on my computer. I get sick of sitting in my bed. 
I can’t get a chair in my room, and even if I could, I’d still just be sitting. 
Usually I’m up and down ; on the computer for a while, then reading a book in the bedroom, then walking around outside. 
I’m not in bed all day long like I am when the littles are here.

I just cannot tolerate the loud TV, the blaring tablets (each little has a tablet), the running, the jumping, the screaming.

Instead of making a person feel ashamed, maybe it’s time to normalize the fact that not all women are suited to having children around.

I was still in my twenties when I had my own kids. 
I did fine with the noise and the chaos they brought. 
But I’m almost sixty now. 
I’ve grown cranky and noise‑intolerant 🤷🏻‍♀️.

There’s also a difference when they’re your own children. 
You’re allowed to discipline them and teach them.

I’m not allowed to make Raven’s littles behave, no matter how naughty they get. 
Supposedly this is my own house.

Heron went to celebrate his birthday with his girlfriend. 
At 5 a.m. tomorrow, he’s picking up Peacock, and they’re heading into the woods somewhere in Kentucky.
I’m not sure when he’ll be back. 
I need to text him, since I’m responsible for his cats.

Hopefully Peacock doesn’t lose his baby brother. 
Heron said he’d better not get lost. 
He’ll have the keys, and Peacock will just be stranded.

I think I’ll head to bed. 
Eleven p.m. is past my bedtime.