After spending the early, early morning nursing one child and then cuddling another one who is still feeling slightly sick, I got up, had a little breakfast and sat around in my pjs for a while. Eventually I decided that I probably ought to dress the girls and myself, because we really did need to go to the store and buy milk. The Boy had dressed himself. Putting clothes on my daughters wasn't too difficult -- the middle child actually chose her clothes with alacrity and the other one doesn't care what she wears yet.

Time to dress myself, which of course shouldn't be too hard. I even had clean clothes to choose from. I'm in the process of taking off my pants when the 2 1/2 year old walked in. "Why you change your pants, Mom? Did you pee-pee in them?" asked the still not potty-trained one.

When I assured her that I hadn't she wandered off to pick a fight with her brother. Or maybe he started it. It's really hard to tell some of the time, but yelling ensued followed by a shout of, "Mom, she just stuck her foot in the baby's face." Screams from the baby who had been napping underneath her Gymini thing followed, so once I got some pants on (don't want to frighten the neighbors) I had to rescue the infant and break up the hostilities over a plastic dog.

Time to change the top half of my apparel. Get things off. In comes the 2 1/2 year old, who laughs and starts chanting, "Mommy's nudie." On go the undergarments, shirt and sweater quickly, but I forgot the pads I need to stop me from leaking milk every where. They are currently being cradled in the arms of my daughter, who hands them over, "Here are the bras for your noo-noos."

And thus, after only 15 minutes, lots of embarrassing questions and commentary, I got myself dressed. Yes, I could have locked the door, but I swear it's worse when I try.