Holy shit.

It's 315 am and Genny won't sleep. I took the freaking cat out of her room and then locked her door. Her door has a lock on the outside from when she was a baby and we were scared she'd get hurt sneaking around. We could childproof her room, but not the whole house while the family lay unconscious.

I tried having her in the bed with me and Mike, but I have a really bad bladder infection and this child kicks like a soccer star and I'm only one antibiotic pill into this, so I'm in agony and exhausted. Mike has to work, so dealing with the house insomniac is my job, sick or not. We gave her melatonin for sleeping and she decided to sneak out to the kitchen after she'd been put to bed and get a freaking mountain dew. Daddy found the half can on her bed post, so we gave her a quarter of my xanax to try to relax her and she's still up and about. I finally spanked her and locked her in. I can hear her thrashing about in her room now, too.

I'm scared about when school starts because I can't fucking deal with this crap when school starts. I am going to be working and we both need to be functional for school. I'm getting her clonidine tomorrow. I hope to God it works. I can't begin to fathom dealing with her if it doesn't. I can't begin to fathom her being so sleepless when school starts. I know she likes her 12 hours of sleep a night, but she's not going to even vaguely approach that if this stuff keeps up.

I'm upset because she's keeping the whole house up and because she's not getting any rest, which means she may go on a house wrecking spree tomorrow and I'm not physically capable of keeping up with Hurricane Genny at the moment and I cannot begin to contend with the constant bitching and bickering that comes from Russell regarding her. All I can have him do is keep her busy, which interferes with his computer time, which sends him into a king-size pissy fit, which normally I'd wreck his life over, but I'm so sick and exhausted, I'm not up to it.

I'm beat as a bongo drum at an all night voodoo dance. Oh, and add to this that my period has begun and the laundry list of why I feel like shit and am toast gets longer.

I hate my children in August, the bickering month of school-age children everywhere.