Today is Jill’s first day going it alone with all three boys. I respect her talent and patience. Just absorbing the full brunt of Son1 and Son2 is enough to crumble statues… so I can’t imagine dealing with them while simultaneously dealing with Son3, who requires one’s full attention plus fourteen. It’s like an advanced geometry problem with no answer.

A circular area with a diameter of no sleep is bordered by uniform screaming. It contains six missing couch cushions, eleven insurmountable tantrums, four plastic bowls of varying and shifting degrees of importance, and one incontinent Basset Hound. If the area around the shunned pacifier is sixty square bath times, find its width in diapers. (Values = Liam, Nate, Sam; 3 boys > 1 adult).

Perform all math in your head as you allow a piggybacking musketeer with a mouthful of turned corn to repeatedly punch you in the neck and fire a flintlock muzzleloader into a bathtub filled with brass cymbals. Clean up. Fix food. Clean up. Pass out. Wake up four times before you wake up.

Okay, so I guess it’s more like an advanced geometry problem with corn, gunplay, and the odd musketeer. I didn’t see that coming. Either way, Jill’s ears are ringing, food is involved, and she’s getting hit in the neck a lot.