Did someone order a dancing monkey? Or, my life is secretly orchestrated by a French surrealist

Our house was absolutely crazy this morning. Everyone running at one hundred miles an hour. Eloise is fussy and needs a good suctioning - Josephine finds her entire wardrobe unsuitable for wear - Amelia is inexplicably pulling out every blanket in the house - Hazel is trying on her sisters' shoes - I had surgery last Friday, so I'm loopy - Trevor has to go to work. My mom, sister and cousin show up, and it is like the calvary has arrived. I told them, "I feel like my life is being orchestrated behind the scenes by a crazy french surrealist. He is saying, 'Yes, some blood grenades in the corner, some screaming, a baby with many, many tubes...But it needs that je ne sais quoi...Perhaps a dancing monkey?"

And then, as if asking the question, 'Did someone order a dancing monkey?!' We get a phone call from my brother - his wife is in labor!

1 comment:

  1. Ah! A dancing monkey. But it is charming, is it not?

    At least until it starts to fling poo. Do French surrealist monkeys do that? Nah....not while wearing tutus.