What can scale the heights or plumb the depths of life experience as thoroughly as does parenthood? Nothing, methinks.
However, the combination of cabin fever, maternal languor, and constant infighting have finally shredded My Last Nerve and brought me to this desperate pass.
Separate bedrooms, cooperative sock-sorting assignments, repeatedly defined and refined personal boundaries, the obligatory and repeated ad nauseum Threats and Bribes, and the unfortunately necessary reminders that my bathrooms is NOT a conference room have galvanized my resolve.
The only reasonable chance of any peace abiding here at the Circle H Ranch for the next few weeks of winter seems to require out-of-this-world thinking: it will likely only be achieved if Miss Cee and John the Sniper are jettisoned to separate planets. Kidding? Not.
Therefore, I am soliciting -- yes, with my little heart on my sleeve! -- any and all information relevant to intergalactic transport. My sanity weighs in the balance. OK, that particular commodity has not always been the most robust or reliable source of order, but--to my knowledge--it's all we've got around here. Time to conserve!
Oh, and price is no object...come to think of it, the Sibling Culprits should probably be confined to separate transport pods and sated with Double-Stuf Oreos.
Over and out,
Your Faithful Correspondent