The final blow from November...

November blew back from the grave to bitch-slap me in the face.

I presume it's because I called her a bad name in my post this morning.

As I sit here chewing on a gristled piece of karma, allow me to share highlights of the day:

Jack woke with a laugh sounding eerily similar to that of a semi-automatic weapon; an incessant bleating, it's grating edge without rival. After round 157 of forced delivery, my husband began to issue the following warning: "I swear to God, Jack, if you laugh like that one more time I'm going to..." His idle threat was cut short with the following statement: "I speak goat language."

James has been barking like a seal all day, coupled with bouts of vomiting and high fever. I fried an egg on his head this morning, but only because he wouldn't let me put him down, even for a second.

Husband took Jack and Peanut to the corporate Christmas party at noon. I reminded him to take the camera so he could take pictures of them with Santa. He arrived home to report that at some point during the festivities, the camera went missing from his jacket pocket. There are three likely possibilities:

1. When racing back to the lobby to retrieve the camera, my husband checked the pockets of the wrong coat. Although if this were the case, that means he arrived home with someone else's coat as well, because there is still no camera. Note to self: check jacket he wore home to make sure it's his. Caring for three children does some crazy shit to your brain.
2. The camera fell out of his pocket in the lobby, and is now wedged deeply into the treads of one of my co-worker's winter boots. It shall be returned to me when I go to work on Monday.
3. Someone indeed pinched it. If so, I'll assume you need the camera more than me. Do me a favour though, and send me the photos of my son's sixth birthday party. That'll save me from explaining your actions to him one day when reviewing that gap in his photo album.

Shortly after returning from said party, husband leaves again with Jack to take him to his hockey game. I decide to stay put as James has fallen asleep in my arms, and Peanut is dangerously close to crashing from a Christmas-party sugar high - one knows not to mess with these things. Minutes later I get a phone call from my husband. I think: "Awesome. He's calling to tell me he's found the camera!"

Rather, here's what I get: "Jack and I just got in a car accident. Can you come pick us up at the corner of Ring Road and Winnipeg? Don't worry, everyone is fine."

Moral of the story? Life is good. Just when you think you have something to complain about, you get handed a plate of perspective.

The only part of the day that remains troublesome is that my son speaks goat.