I told Ryan last night "I wouldn't change anything now, because we would have different kids if we'd done things differently, and I like the ones we have, and I'm glad we had them while we were young, but this--" gesturing wildly around at my desk and stacks of papers and empty coffee mugs interspersed with toys and pacifiers and loveys and crumbs (SO MANY crumbs) "--is completely insane."
I had to abandon my house and go outside yesterday so I could call the members of my committee and the graduate school and ask if it would work to move my defense to Friday instead of Thursday (do NOT GET ME STARTED) because Wesley was wigging out (clean, dry, and fed, but tired) and Charlie was thundering around upstairs instead of napping (later I learned that he was STANDING ON HIS DRESSER hurling books across his room. He lost the privilege of having a dresser in his room over this because apparently being completely pissed off over the defense date plan change gives me enough strength to drag a 400 lb dresser into the hallway while my nervous and appologetic toddler watches from the safety of his bed (where he should have been in the first place)).
I wrote a check today and upon filling in the date immediately suffered a stroke. Then I remembered that February is only twenty-eight days long and I went into anaphylactic shock right there in the day care lobby.
Edited to add: I am apparently more ready to be an academic than I thought because the grad school just emailed me and said "We got your defense notification form. Please send us [this other form] because your defense form was a week late and we need to move quickly." and it was ONLY THEN that I realized I have TWO weeks to go and not THREE! So, I've got that complete inability to attend to practical details thing DOWN.