I'm home but both rugrats are sicker than they've ever been. Little kid is refusing meals, which hasn't happened once in his 15 months alive. He also is using me as his own personal love seat and does not tolerate me taking my hands from his fevered little head to type.
Big Kid is a coughing, feverish, gray zombie and got explosive diarrhea on my fancy new monogrammed shower curtain (FUCK).
I'm 3 photo sessions behind and I've got a ton of stuff to do this week, plus we're in the middle of an identity theft nightmare. Some jerk named Scott Santos keeps ordering Gucci and Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses as Mr. Ashley and I'm afraid Mr. Ashley is going to track him down and kill him before the cops bother rousing their fat asses from their desks to pursue it.