I’m Going to Eat My Young. And the Young of Six Other People.

I hope this is the strangest post I ever write. It’s 2:51am, there are a couple of not-even-remotely-tired children in my living room, I’m awake in my office with our dog because she’s geeked out on Dorito powder and little girl giggles, and there’s a weird taste in my mouth from falling into a sleep-coma while eating a grape Jolly Rancher.

The whole scene from The Shining playing out in my house right now is due to a “school project.” Yes, I fell for it. I let my child convince me (mostly through her wide, innocent eyes and cute smile) that she needed to have just a few friends spend the night so they could destroy my entire life work on their group project. And I fell for it.

The ten minutes of school work this group actually performed in the space of the last eighteen hours actually did look great. But other than six preteen girls making loud noises while my child did the work (other than the random girls who would pop in occasionally to bring her more Mountain Dew or wipe sweat off her face like she was performing brain surgery in a mechanic’s shop instead of standing in an air-conditioned master bathroom larger than my first apartment), I didn’t see a lot of GROUP in this GROUP PROJECT.

But here was the end result of this massive joint effort of emerging estrogen:

Here it is when I actually hold still:

Helping my daughter with her school project. #goodmommy on Twitpic

I’m a good person. And I’m eating one of the children for breakfast. I’ve already made that announcement, telling them trial-by-fire auditions to see who gets to live will take place promptly at six. Welcome to insomnia, babies.