Another day

Yesterday was my day to run errands. Needless to say, you should prepare yourself for all the excitement.

I had to meet my new upholstery guy at his shop at 10:00 a.m. so he could show me all my different foam options for the bottom cushions. I think I forgot to mention that I’m not just getting slipcovers made, but also getting the bottom cushions rebuilt because how would you look if someone had sat on you every day for the last nine years?

I realize at this point you might be wondering why I didn’t just get a new couch. Or maybe you’ve died of boredom. Either way, the answer is that our couch has a slight curve to it that makes it the perfect shape for our somewhat awkward living room layout. And the only other couch I’d really want is this gorgeous leather couch from Restoration Hardware that would require us to take out a second mortgage on the house. And then we might end up living on the street, sleeping on a perfectly weathered, sumptuous leather couch.

Anyway, I had to go look at foam like I’m some sort of foam expert. It basically consisted of me pushing my hand down on various foam samples and saying, “Oh” in what I hope was an authoritative tone. New Upholstery Guy informed me that the original foam used in my couch cushions wasn’t nearly thick enough and was wrapped in a lot of dacron to compensate which is why my cushions have broken down.

And here I thought they’d broken down because they’ve been subjected to almost a decade of being spilled on and hopped on and turned into a makeshift fort. It’s been enough to bring me close to a breakdown and why should I expect more than that from my couch?

So we decided (He decided. I just stood there nodding like a total foam fraud.) on a much thicker foam for the new and improved cushions. I feel good about it.

After I left there I had to stop and fill up my car with gas. And that’s when my day got slightly more interesting.

(I know. You’re thinking HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? I mean, I picked out foam. A thicker foam than I’ve had before. You’d think the day hit a peak at that point. Understandably so.)

I pulled up at the gas pump and immediately noticed the car across from mine was an ancient station wagon piled TO THE BRIM with all manner of newspapers and trash and I don’t know what else because I was afraid to look for fear of seeing a dead body. I got out of my car and began to pump gas and perform my gas station ritual of throwing out all the empty Capri Suns and Gatorade bottles that have accumulated in my backseat since the last time I filled up.

And that’s when the owner of the station wagon filled with a possible dead body asked me about the t-shirt I was wearing. It’s the “Arise Africa” shirt that I wear about four times a week because it’s the softest shirt ever.

(Side note: Arise Africa is my friend A.J.’s ministry in Zambia. You’ll be hearing more about it in a week or so.)

And so he asked if my shirt said Arise Africa. I confirmed that it did. So he followed up by asking if I was in the Peace Corps. Because, clearly, I look like the Peace Corps type in my Nike running shorts and Volvo station wagon with soccer balls piled in the back.

I told him I wasn’t and then he told me that his daughter was delivered by a doctor from Africa who ended up killing his wife (not this man’s wife, his own wife) but that shouldn’t really matter because he was still a good doctor. Well, sure he was. Why hold a little thing like, oh I don’t know, MURDER against him?

It just seemed like a lot of information to relay to a stranger at the gas pump and was, frankly, so much more than I wanted to know. And since I’m so good in awkward situations, I mumbled something like “Well, that’s nice. Have a good day.” and then quickly got back in my car.

I made my way to HEB to buy groceries because I never really made a trip to the store last week and we were down to the bare essentials. Caroline’s lunch yesterday was basically a thing of mandarin oranges that I said a blessing over in the hope they would be fruitful and multiply.

(Get it? Fruitful?)

It is with great sadness that I tell you our HEB is still totally torn up. The cheese is still in the front of the store. But then there are other cheeses in the back of the store. And it took me a sweet forever to find the butter and sour cream.

However, I think I’ve figured out the issue. It’s because we just got that new Target complete with a grocery store AND we’re getting a Trader Joe’s. I suspect HEB is trying to fancy things up to hold our interest.

Which is nice and all, but FOR THE LOVE I just want all my cheese to be in one place.

And to not hear about murder at the gas station.

It doesn’t take much to make me happy. Especially now that I’m about to have the best foam ever on my couch.

Well.

As much as I hate it that the Aggies lost to LSU in a game that we could have won if not for five turnovers, two missed field goals and a missed extra point (I’m depressed all over again after typing that sentence) it might be for the best.

This is the time in a football season when my expectations are lowered and I don’t spend my whole week on football message boards analyzing all the data trying to figure out if we can beat LSU. This is the time that reality sets in and I can just watch the rest of the games with a healthy interest that doesn’t border on psychotic crazy woman with the shakes who screams at nineteen year old boys on the T.V. like they can hear me.

Had we won the game against LSU, I would have had at least two more weeks of football-induced stress filled with delusions of beating Alabama and the whole thing probably would have resulted in a stomach ulcer. The way I see it, the Aggies have saved me thousands in medical bills.

Yes. I realize I have a problem.

Anyway, we had a busy weekend around here. One of those weekends that kind of makes me glad it’s Monday so that I can get some rest and relax a little bit.

On Friday, I picked up Gulley’s boys from school and then picked up Caroline. Gulley met us back at my house and we attempted to catch up on all the events of the week since we’d pretty much been going in different directions for days and our communication had consisted of eighty-four three minute conversations.

But then the upholstery guy showed up to pick up my couch. I’ve been attempting to have white slipcovers made for the couch since June but couldn’t get my normal upholstery guy to call me back and had to find someone new. And so the new guy showed up on Friday afternoon and loaded my couch up in the back of a truck.

Let’s hope he really owns an upholstery business and this wasn’t just some elaborate sham to steal my ten-year-old couch with goldfish cracker remnants in every cushion.

After the couch made its exit, my friend Michelle arrived at the house. She came to spend the weekend with us. I greeted her with the news that we were babysitting Gulley’s boys for the night and had a big evening ahead filled with dinner at EZ’s and maybe ice cream at Baskin-Robbins. Oh, and by the way, we’ll be sitting on the floor of my living room all weekend because someone may or may not have stolen my couch.

It’s no wonder she wanted to spend the weekend with me. We show our guests a super good time.

Sure enough, we took the kids to EZ’s and then Baskin-Robbins. And while Will sat next to me eating his ice cream, he said, “Mel, do you know what would be the saddest thing in the whole world?”

“What?”

“If my mom had never met you because then I wouldn’t know you either.”

Melt my heart.

Have I ever mentioned that Will is a smooth talker? We fully expect that someday girls will be lined up around the block trying to make him their own.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I believe he only told me this because I’d just let him get Skittles AND Gummie Bears in his ice cream.)

We came back home and I piled a bunch of blankets and quilts on the living room floor in an attempt to make a faux couch for the kids to sit on while they watched a movie. It must have been comfortable because Will and Jackson were asleep in about ten minutes flat. But Wakey Wakerson, otherwise known as my child, lasted through the whole movie because she has programmed herself to never EVER fall asleep until it’s absolutely necessary.

On Saturday morning Caroline had a soccer game on the other side of town. To quote one of the dads on the team, it was a real goat rodeo getting out there. I spent my time at the game watching Caroline play her heart out and avoiding looking at my phone because the A&M started at 11:00 and I was worried someone would text me a spoiler.

Sadly, Caroline’s team lost but she had a great game.

(Michelle took this picture which explains why it’s good. I didn’t take any pictures because I was in the midst of my communication blackout due to the Aggie game. Mother of the year.)

When the game was over we got in the car and drove to Gulley’s house as fast as we could because she’d recorded the game and they were waiting on us to start watching it. She’d also bought an entire platter of Chick-Fil-A nuggets. Which is one of the reasons she’s my best friend.

With great anticipation, we started the game. And we were ecstatic. We were jubilant. There was jumping up and down. Maybe even a few fist pumps.

And then…

Gloom.

Despair.

And agony on me.

Deep, dark depression. Excessive misery.

But the chicken nuggets were delicious. And I actually avoided all social media, texts, etc. for over five hours which has to be some sort of personal record. It almost killed me. Not because of all the interaction but because I’m not really a girl who enjoys suspense and I knew that one look at the Twitter and I could know exactly how the whole thing ended.

So that was that.

On Sunday, Caroline had the chance to be a ball girl for the Incarnate Word’s women’s soccer team. And I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but real soccer games are long. That was basically our Sunday afternoon, but she had a great time.

(After this picture was taken, Caroline gave me an “Okay, MOM” with a wave of her hand like she was shooing an annoying bug. It was a tender moment.)

After that I dropped her off at a friend’s house where she’s part of a girls’ Bible study and I came home and sat on our “couch” to relax until Caroline got home. And somehow I ended up falling asleep because when your couch isn’t so much a couch as it is a pile of blankets with pillows all over it, well, I challenge you to not end up in a semi-comatose state. Possibly drooling.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if my couch really was absconded by a couch thief. I could leave my
living room like this forever. Get some cement blocks to put the T.V. on. Maybe a mini-fridge in the corner.

Sure, it might look like a fraternity house, but think of all the great naps I could take.

Listen.

We just finished another homework marathon. This time involving geometry. Which, thankfully, Caroline knows how to do without any assistance from me. However, I don’t know if it’s better when she knows all the answers and spends thirty extra minutes doing all her little victory song and dances in her chair while saying “This is SO EASY!” like she’s one of the stars of the classic 1983 movie “Valley Girl” or when she can’t figure something out and rails against the entire educational system, the Texas government and the harsh realities of life in general.

It’s a toss up.

Either way, my brain is tired. And my lip is bleeding from biting it all the times I wanted to yell, “JUST FINISH YOUR HOMEWORK”.

The point is I’m not capable of composing any sort of essay about anything and will instead just throw out some random pieces of information.

1. Several of you have mentioned Tami Taylor’s new show, Nashville. Yes, I watched. And, YES, I loved it. I didn’t want the first episode to end because not only am I fascinated by Tami’s hair, but I enjoyed the general storyline and have found myself thinking about it several times since.

My only real issue is that she isn’t married to Coach Eric Taylor and living in Dillon, Texas.

But other than that? LOVE.

(I also realize her real name is Connie Britton. But she’ll always be Tami to me. Always.)

2. And while we’re on the subject of Tami Taylor, have y’all seen this?

3. Also, on the subject of hair, I have a new favorite hair product. It’s called Kenra Thermal Styling Spray.

I discovered it because my friend, Vanessa, has the most amazing hair. Like Tami Taylor’s, but maybe better if that’s possible. And so, because I’m so quick on my feet, it finally occurred to me that I should ask her what she uses on her hair. The answer was Kenra Thermal Styling Spray.

Not even kidding, I sprayed it on my hair while I curled it with the curling iron and still had good curl two days later. TWO DAYS.

4. I wrote a post over at Ree’s about three of my favorite movies that are based on the lives of authors. You can check it out here if you’re interested.

5. P texted me this picture a couple of weeks ago when he and Caroline went fishing. It’s now the wallpaper on my phone because I love it so much.

6. I mentioned that Holly Mathis came to visit a few weeks ago, but never really followed up. Mainly because there hasn’t been much progress on the house front largely due to the fact that we’re still waiting on the holes in the wall to get fixed. Apparently that’s happening next week at the latest and then hopefully everything else will happen really quickly after that because I’m ready for my house to be pretty again.

However, I’d asked Holly if she could help me with something for my dining room table and she found me this great dough bowl while she was at Round Top.

And then I filled it with pumpkins and gourds just like I’d always dreamed. Frankly, I’m almost giddy with the thought of filling it with Christmas ornaments when the time comes.

Imagine how good it will look when I don’t have holes in my walls.

(Also several of you asked about Holly. She does online consultations as well. You can visit her blog for more information.)

7. I’ve decided I’m going to embrace the crockpot this winter. I mean, not literally embrace it because THIRD DEGREE BURNS. But I like the idea of dinner percolating away all day while I do more meaningful things like figure out new ways to fix my hair.

And that’s it for today.

Happy Wednesday.

I don’t want y’all to assume by this title that I’m throwing P out.

Because the truth is I’m keeping him forever. Not only does he take Caroline to school most mornings allowing me a little extra time in my pajamas, but he’s also the only hope she has to have any real help with her fourth grade math homework.

I wish I was joking.

Yesterday she came home with a homework assignment to complete two levels on IXL which is an online math site. The first one was on identifying place values. I can deal with that. I understand tens, thousands and hundred millions place.

But my frustration level started to rise because she was doing a lot of kicking the coffee table and bouncing around and what should have taken fifteen minutes took forty-five minutes.

Serenity now.

And then we finally started the next level which was about converting place values. Honestly, I didn’t even know there was a need to convert a place value. What am I supposed to do? Lead them to Jesus?

If place values need to be converted, then that’s why my iPhone has a calculator. But apparently it’s part of the fourth grade skill set and dang if I could figure it out. Sure, it was fine when it was something like convert four thousands to however many tens. Then it started asking questions that dealt with numbers in the billions and I was all CHECK PLEASE.

Or maybe I was like WINE PLEASE.

I can’t really remember.

Fortunately, Mimi and Bops showed up about that time and I figured Bops would know how to help her with it since he was in the business world for forty years or so. And, yes, he could figure it out but then the IXL kept saying our answers were wrong and OH MY WORD I HATE THE COMPUTER NOW.

Then P came in and knew how to find the answers too, but none of this was really helping Caroline actually learn anything. It basically became thirty minutes of my dad and P coming up with the correct answers while Caroline asked if it was time for soccer practice. And so I finally texted her teacher and basically said that we give up. It beat us. The IXL on converting place values killed us all dead.

The point is this is fourth grade math.

Which means I’m going to have to start saving up for a math tutor for the next eight years. I’d like to think that I used to be smarter than this but then I remember that I failed Algebra II in eleventh grade (a fact I’ll never share with Caroline because ENABLER) and realize numbers have always been my nemesis.

But today was supposed to be about my big closet clean out this weekend. I took five large bags of stuff to Goodwill this afternoon and felt good about myself in that smug way that you do when you’ve accomplished some feat that’s pretty much completely meaningless to anyone else.

Here’s the thing: I think cleaning out your closet twice a year is a necessity. Or maybe it’s just a necessity for me since it’s really the only area of my life where I have the slightest bit of order.

I know I’ve talked about this before but I clean out my closet every fall and every spring. And I’m merciless. I get rid of pretty much anything I haven’t worn in the past year. The exceptions to this are the denim vest I’ve had since 1993, the pair of Levi’s I wore when P and I were dating even though I’ll never wear my jeans that high-waisted ever again because BLECH, and a fifteen-year-old size 2 paisley sundress from Harolds because THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES, SIZE 2.

And so even though the temperatures here are still supposed to get back in the 90s this week, I have now made the transition to my fall/winter closet.

This is the after pic. I didn’t take a before pic because OH THE SHAME.

And this is a closer look at my necklace hanger thing because so many of y’all asked about it.

My friend, Annie Downs, made it for me years ago out of a picture frame and some hooks and screen because she’s basically MacGyver. I adore it because I can easily see most of my accessory options. I say “most” because I still have some other bracelets and such crammed into a dresser drawer because that’s just who I am.

Just for laughs, this is P’s side of the closet. A few years ago my friend Jen was visiting and happened to be in our closet. She asked if I don’t allow P to buy any clothes.

Listen. He is free to buy whatever he wants. It’s not my fault that he thinks a complete wardrobe is comprised of four plaid shirts, a pair of jeans and some Magellan fishing shirts from Academy. I just see it as more of our clothing budget that can go to more important causes like Free People or Anthropologie.

Anyway, I thought I had more to say about cleaning out my closet but apparently the math homework has driven it right out of my head. So I’ll just say it’s a good thing to do. It helps you see what you have that you might’ve forgotten about and figure out if you need anything new to complete an outfit.

And it also might make you feel embarrassed by how many white tank tops you own from Old Navy. But you’ll justify it by reminding yourself that they were only like $3.00 a piece.

Which converts to something like 300 ones in place values.

Or maybe it doesn’t. I wouldn’t really know.

I just want you to know – before I get into a big long, possibly boring summary of our weekend – that I have a stomachache at the moment. Not because of some type of virus, but because I ate a big piece of chocolate sheet cake even when I knew I was still full from dinner.

Why did I do that?

In hindsight, I should have skipped dinner altogether and just eaten the chocolate cake because that’s all I really wanted in the first place. As evidenced by the fact I asked P if he’d like me to bake a chocolate sheet cake tonight since I still had a little bit of buttermilk left from the one I made last week and I hated for it to go to waste.

Yes. Because a pint of buttermilk costs upwards of .89 cents.

Justification, you are my friend.

It’s just about wanting to be a good wife and saving us the heartbreak and possible financial ruin that could come from throwing away perfectly good buttermilk.

Anyway, we had a great weekend here.

On Friday, P and I went to lunch with our friends Lisa, Todd, and Angie. They were in town from Nashville for the Women of Faith Conference and so we decided we needed to expose them to real Mexican food as opposed to the faux Mexican food that you sometimes find on the Riverwalk. We took them to a place we love called Patty’s Taco House, home of the mini-puff taco plate that will change your life. And my heart broke for Angie when she revealed she’d never eaten a flour tortilla with butter on it. I don’t understand how that’s possible.

(Says the girl who made a chocolate cake in the name of not wasting buttermilk.)

After lunch we raced to pick Caroline up from school because they had early dismissal last week and she got out at 1:00. There is really no need for you to know this but I’ve already typed it and my stomach hurts from the chocolate cake and so I’m just leaving it there.

P and Caroline packed up to head to the ranch for Friday and Saturday because it was the weekend of the biannual shoot-out that P hosts for a group of men at our church known as the Sportsmen. It’s basically two days of a bunch of guys bringing their guns and their kids to the ranch and shooting targets and fishing and other generally outdoorsy type things.

Which explains why P sent me this photo late Friday afternoon. Please do not look if you are squeamish and/or wrestling with any sort of snake phobia. Unfortunately, I fit into both of those categories but it was too late for me once I looked.

And I think it speaks to my personality that I eventually came around to the thought that it would make a gorgeous belt.

On Friday night, in addition to looking at photos of my baby girl holding a dead snake, I went to the Women of Faith conference. It was fun, but by the time I got home I had a headache so I took some Advil and went to bed. And didn’t wake up until 10:00 on Saturday morning.

I’m not going to lie, it was glorious.

I spent the rest of the day in my pajamas watching football. At one point I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day but was too lazy to get out so I called and had a pizza delivered. So essentially I turned into a nineteen-year-old college boy on Saturday. But without the keg and in a home that smells significantly better than a fraternity house.

However, I did have a burst of productivity when it became apparent that the Longhorns were going to stink up the Cotton Bowl which led to me cleaning out my closet. But I’m going to tell you about that tomorrow because it’s really a post of its own.

(What I’m omitting is that it’s probably a really boring post of its own, but I have to take my blog content where I can desperately find it.)

Eventually I showered and put on a different pair of pajamas than the ones I’d been wearing all day because basic hygiene and all. And then I spent some time on Pinterest, contemplating whether or not a kitchen island countertop made of reclaimed wood is actually practical or just good in theory, while I waited on the Aggie game to start.

Finally, at 8:22 ESPNU finally switched from the already over and dead Vanderbilt vs. Florida game to the A&M vs. La Tech game and I was pleased to see the Aggies had already scored a touchdown in their first possession.

Of course I was sad that I missed it since ESPNU felt like everyone wanted to see the last minute and forty-four seconds of Vandy losing to Florida. But ESPN is on my bad list right now because they’ve also scheduled this weekend’s game against LSU for 11 a.m. Guess what time Caroline’s soccer game is? 10:50 a.m.

(Which means I’m going to have to record the game and resist the temptation to check the score even though that never works for me because I have a problem.)

Anyway, by the time the Aggies were up 27-0 at the end of the first quarter I was kind of lamenting that it was going to be such a boring blow-out of a game. And then La Tech decided to wake up and the Aggie defense decided to take a nap and I basically jumped up and down on the couch and hid my face behind decorative pillows and hyperventilated and passed out and threw things at the T.V. and furiously texted Gulley and Jen for the next four hours.

Because that’s the other thing. It was the LONGEST GAME EVER. That dang game didn’t end until right before 1 a.m. and by that point I had enough adrenaline coursing through my veins to throw a bus down a city block. I could’ve taken enough Ambien to kill a horse and I wouldn’t have slept.

But Johnny Manziel saved the day again. And the announcers even started talking about him being a possible Heisman candidate. Which, on one hand, great. But on the other hand, he’s just a freshman and we still have huge games in front of us and I don’t want him to get a big head and be like Smash Williams that time he started to believe that he was the only player the Dillon Panthers needed and created animosity among his teammates.

And then I remember that Smash Williams is a fictional character who played for a fictional team in a fictional town for a fictional coach.

Which makes me sad. Mainly because I loved his mama on that show so much.

Then on Sunday I put on my pressurized spacesuit and jumped from the edge of space.

Or maybe I just helped Caroline with her skeleton book report project, made tacos for dinner and ate too much chocolate cake.

I really couldn’t be more excited about what I’m about to tell y’all.

The new Target opened yesterday. And it’s less than five miles from my house. And it has a Starbucks in it. If you walked outside around 9:30 a.m. yesterday morning and thought you heard the Hallelujah chorus, there’s a good chance it was me when I pulled into the Target parking lot.

I didn’t even need anything at Target. I just wanted to see it.

And here’s the verdict:

It looks pretty much like every other Target out there.

And just like I do every time I walk in a Target, I managed to walk out of there with stuff I didn’t even really know I needed. Except for the thirty new plastic hangers I bought. I was in dire need of more hangers. And P thought he was hilarious when I pulled them out of my Target sack and he said, “Way to go, Jen Hatmaker. Way to reduce the clothing in your closet.”

But this isn’t really about Target except for now it is. I really wanted to tell you about my day of shopping with Caroline on Monday. Mainly because I want to use it as a reference point the next time I decide it’s a good idea to take her to the mall.

It all started on Sunday morning. A cold front blew in and I went to her closet to find something for her to wear and remembered that she’d pretty much outgrown everything from last winter because she’s growing at a rate of two inches a week. But I managed to find a pair of jeans that were long enough as long as she tucked them into her almost-too-small boots and then pulled out one of two long sleeve tops that still come to her wrists.

So on Sunday afternoon we decided to tackle the boots first. She needed a good pair of cowboy boots for the ranch and just to wear around. We headed to Cavender’s Boot City because if you can’t find boots at a place with Boot City in the name then I can’t help you. And, sure enough, she found her dream boots after we were only in the store for about three minutes.

It was so easy.

Painless.

Drama-free.

And since that didn’t take much time, I decided we should run by Gap to look for new jeans. Other than the fact that we got into a small argument over whether or not she had to actually try them on in the store, it went fairly well.

(YES. YES YOU DO HAVE TO TRY THEM ON. Your father is the only person I buy clothes for without him trying them on. Mainly because he only goes in clothing stores about once every three years.)

(Please note: Cabelas and Academy do not count as clothing stores in my mind.)

We ended up with two pairs of jeans and a denim jacket. Sadly we didn’t end up with the other fifty-eight things I thought were darling because “that’s just not my style”.

But I still felt like she needed some new tops and maybe a sweater or two. Maybe even (BLESS MY HEART.) a dress. That’s why I decided it was worth it to spend the first half of Monday shopping at La Cantera. I figured Nordstrom wouldn’t do us wrong.

And it didn’t. There were dozens of cute tops and fun little skirts and jeans in all colors. But we only left there with one shirt because “these just aren’t my style”.

So we headed to Zara because it’s always been my ace in the hole. They have the best kids’ clothes and we’ve always found stuff there. Plus, Caroline always tells me she wants clothes that look like the things I wear and Zara has a bunch of things I’d wear if they came in my size.

Nope.

Nothing.

I held up leopard print leggings with darling tunics. Eighty-four different white shirts (you know how I love a white shirt), fur vests, denim dresses and funky t-shirts.

Nada.

(That’s nothing in Spanish. Because I am muy bilingual.)

I stood back and just let her look through the racks to see if she might have more success if she wasn’t hindered by my obvious love of something.

Ultimately she didn’t like any clothes in any of the stores and I had to bite my lip until I thought I’d pass out. And the worst part is I never could get her to articulate what “her style” is. Best I can tell based on past outfit choices, it’s a cross between what Taylor Swift would wear and a hobo.

And you can’t really find that at GapKids.

We left the mall with two shirts. And I’ve decided that it’s not my problem if she only has three things to wear all winter long.

Let’s just hope those three things look good with cowboy boots because those are the only shoes that come in her style at the moment besides her tennis shoes.

After the mall we went and picked up one of her friends so they could play that afternoon. But first I had to run a few quick errands, including a stop at one of her classmate’s homes. I left the girls in the car while I ran to the front door to pick something up and looked back and saw that Caroline had rolled down the back window and was hanging out of it.

As I walked back to the car I must have said, “GET BACK IN THE CAR” at least five times. My patience was at an all-time low and I thought my head might explode, but I really try to avoid going all Miss Hannigan when she has a friend with her. I hate to frighten children other than my own.

So I said, “GET BACK IN THE CAR” one final time as I opened my car door and got in the car. And I assumed that SIX TIMES of your mother telling you to get back in the car would suffice. But I was wrong. Because I shut my car door and immediately heard a piercing scream.

I had slammed the tip of her middle finger in my car door.

Which led to that whole motherhood dilemma of “I feel bad that you’re hurt” versus “You kind of had it coming because you didn’t listen”.

Fortunately it was just the very end of her finger. And I know it must have hurt like monkeys fixing your hair but we put ice on it right away and it honestly looks better than I thought it was going to look.

And that was my Monday.

Which is why I came home after soccer practice and ate a huge piece of chocolate cake for dinner. Because sometimes you just need butter and chocolate and flour.

And maybe a Target that’s only five minutes away.