John, the napless wonder, has morphed into a wailing creature that sounds half-man and half-beast. He has brandished a croquet mallet and thrown a brick (a brick!) at someone. We are both at wit's end.
"Why are you acting like this," I ask.
"I don't know," he says looking bewildered.
His fit ends abruptly as he hears me begin to fake cry. He runs and wraps his squishy arms around me.
"Stop cwyingt, Mama," my little changeling pleads.
In the middle of this, Dave calls wondering if he can pick up anything for me. Last time I checked, Kroger wasn't stocking straight jackets or over-the-counter tranquilizers.
Forty-five minutes until bedtime.