Supernatural

It's amazing what two hours of sleep can do for a gal. Especially when it's the cranky toddler that sleeps and you just get time to yourself.

I've calmed down.

Stink has calmed down.

On his way down the stairs just now, he informed me with a smile, "Mom, you're a supernatural."

I might be drinking Diet Coke. I might be feeding my kids push-ups, dangling carrots in front of them in the form of a 99 Cent store run for "one toy each"... I may be hitting the Play button on the VCR one too many times and knocking the AC one notch lower. I might be a complete unshaven crank with that last ten pounds of baby jiggle daring anyone who sees me in a bathing suit on my front lawn with the elephant pool to stare at my extra belly roll or zoftig legs. I might be a complete zombie who is in desperate need of an 11 hour time-out in a Ritz Carlton bed with the shades drawn.

But my kid thinks I'm a natural.

At the end of the day? That's pretty super.