Four days. Three children. One dog. One woman.

Let's take a look at the numbers:

1 - Number of times I managed to shower before 2 p.m.
1 - Number of times I was asked, "Can I poop?"
1 - Number of times I forgot the dog's propensity for eating things out of the trash.
1 - Number of times I immediately regretted that memory lapse.
1 - Number of wet diapers in the trash at the time.
1 - Number of times I actually counted the children in the car to make sure I hadn't forgotten one.
2 - Number of full brother-on-brother assaults.
2 - Number of said assaults that led to bloodshed.
2 - Number of times I forgot to eat lunch.
2 - Number of times I considered licking a child's fingers a meal.
2 - Number of times I took all three children to a restaurant.
2 - Number of times they behaved like angels in said restaurants.
4 - Number of caffeinated beverages I usually have per month.
4 - Number of caffeinated beverages I had per day for the duration of my supervising responsibilities.
24 - Pounds of food Sweetie Pie Princess can eat per day.
24 - Sweetie Pie Princess's apparent total daily diaper weight.
3 - Number of times I considered the muscle-building potential of carrying around a child who eats as much as Sweetie Pie Princess.
39 - Times I thanked the Freak and the Geek for visiting Saturday afternoon, which really refreshed the crowd.
57 - Number of sympathetic looks I got from strangers during the four days that clearly said, "oh, look at that poor single woman and her three children."
467 - Number of times I said, "Get your hands off your brother."
679 - Number of times I said, "Dog, get away from the high chair."
12:30 a.m. - My usual average bedtime
9:15 p.m. - My average bedtime while watching the Crazies
2:30 a.m. - Average arrival time in my bed of Crazy Nephew #1
4 - Number of times Sweetie Pie Princess awoke before 6:30 a.m.
1 - Number of times I convinced her to go back to sleep.
0 - Number of times I felt completely defeated and cried.

And, perhaps my favorite moment, from the mouth of Crazy Nephew #2...

Late Monday, he was sitting on my lap when I asked for a smooch. He thought about that for a moment, then said, "Okay, I'll kiss you. But I'm not marrying you."

Pictures of this weekend are to come. For now, it's time to return to my footloose and fancy-free life. Newark Airport is calling my name.