If my life were a sit-com, it would be the kind that doesn’t really make you laugh. Instead, you pity the main character and wonder why they didn’t hire a prettier actress. (It would seem a lot funnier with a laugh track. I demand a laugh track!)
At 11 a.m., I decided to take the five-year-olds to the grocery store. I figured we had ninety minutes before school-drop-off time (I am the Queen of the Dash today). It would be kind of fun, taking two five-year-olds to the store, right? We could grab a quick lunch and arrive at school right on time without breaking the speed limit.
We got out to the van and I said, “Do you have your backpack?” to the kindergartener. He did not. I said, “Let me get it,” and headed to the front door. At that moment, I understood for the first time why there was a house-key on the kitchen windowsill. For whatever reason, my husband took it off the key-ring we use for the Big Green Van (remember, the one he locked the keys in last week at the mall). I suppose this was to prevent someone from breaking into the van, intuiting where we lived and rushing over to steal our second-hand furniture and surplus socks.
Anyway, so I couldn’t get back into the house. I called my husband and he announced he was at the grocery store, picking up a few things. “Well,” I said, “That’s where I’m going.” So, we met in the parking lot, switched keys and cars. He’d already purchased bread, milk and other necessities (vinegar salt potato chips, for instance), but I still went in and rounded out our groceries with the addition of Oreo cookies, ricotta cheese, salad greens and other stuff. Good-bye, ninety-six dollars.
Tonight, my daughter was so upset because her melted McDonald’s sundae spilled on her bedroom floor. I know. That just made half of you gasp in horror. I cleaned it up and only scolded her a little because she had already cried about it. Then, not ten minutes later, she spilled a glass of milk in the same exact spot.
And, I did not cry over that.