Make that three poops. At least the house keeper will make the bed in the guest room that Adam trashed and wash the vanity in the kids' bathroom, which Henry smeared with toothpaste the night before last and I didn't see until now (because I avoid going in there as much as possible, heh).

It's 8:18, I have a call with a linguist in Spain in 12 minutes and Lawrence and Jo are completely dressed. I am still sweaty, in my nightgown which is still wet around the hem.

No one has killed me yet. What is wrong with you people?