The Vacant Stare (otherwise known as the only expression my face is currently capable of holding)

Our weekend was fairly draining, especially for Enzo who did not nap at all on Saturday. He still has not recovered. That means he has been doing a lot of screaming and hurling his stout little body onto various surfaces, and I have been taking a lot of long ragged breaths that somehow fail to reach my lungs and holding my head in my hands.
This morning I thought we were out of the woods. He got dressed happily enough, we ate breakfast and then I dropped him off to play with a friend while I went to the orthodontist. Immediately after my appointment I had to rush back, fetch the children and deliver them to the dentist's office or their bi-annual cleanings.
All of this went well. He was happy, he played sweetly with the toys while Zizza had her exam and then climbed eagerly into the chair for his own. He opened his mouth before the dentist had even finished requesting that he do so and remained obliging while his teeth were counted and brushed.
Meanwhile, Zizza had stepped away to have some pictures taken of her teeth. When she came back Enzo was through with his exam and had picked his prizes, a yellow crayon shaped eraser and a ring set with an orange heart-shaped plastic jewel which he chose over the plastic monster finger puppets. He played with the toys some more while she had her teeth properly polished with the whirrring brush and the grainy stuff in the little cup. (She's such a big girl, her first complete cleaning!) Then he hopped back onto the chair, she'd sat in it twice so he should as well, no?
After a second trip to the prize center, we were ready to leave. I was still operating under the impression that last night's sleep had been sufficient to finally chase away the weekend's over-tiredness. That's when he caught sight of the rinsing sink with it's stack of little dixie cups on the counter. He wanted a drink but it had only been fifteen minutes since his fluoride treatment and he was to wait another fifteen before having anything, so I said "no."
And that was the end.
He started screaming. He kicked off his flops and would not put them back on. He continued to scream. I picked up his discarded foot wear and made for the door directing him to follow behind me. I was lucky in that the path to Dusty Miller was entirely shaded so that his walking barefoot would be a possibility. Without that shade, such a walk barefoot would probably result in third degree burns on the bottoms of his feet.
I herded him halfway before I had to grab hold 'round his waist and tuck him under my free arm (remember, The New One has a permanent spot on my left hip during outings) for the remainder of the ten yard journey.
There was a video due at the library today. He screamed all the way through the drop off because he wanted to go inside.
My kitchen was so bare I simply had to stop at the store. There was no way around it. I'd been planning for a proper grocery stock-up today but I could plainly see what a poor idea that would be. Today, my only choice would be Target with those blessed three kid carts. Truly, I couldn't brave taking him in public without the restraint of the five point harness on the Target cart. I turned in that direction and he screamed from the back seat "NO, THAT WAY!" apparently the right hand turn was offensive to him.
I was offended too when I got to Target and had sit him in the basket of a normal cart, as all of the three passenger variety were apparently in use.
I bought, milk, bread and carrots. Then I fled for my life.
He screamed instead of eating his lunch.
Unable to relax after the screaming I'd endured, I twitched all through nap time.
He, it seems, also had trouble unwinding and, like yesterday, didn't sleep.
I tucked him into bed for the night at 7:00 pm.
I started singing, "Here comes the Sandma-"
"NO! PIGEONS!"
So I sang "My Pigeon House" instead of "Sandman" and then I ran away and hid.