The (Play)Dating Scene

My brother is single.  Has been for 35 years.  Occasionally we'll be talking and he'll mention something about dating and then he'll say "you know how it is".And my response is always "Um, no.  No I do not".  Because I went on my first date with my husband EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO.

EIGHTEEN YEARS!  I think I just broke a hip TYPING THAT!

Anywhoo.  I realized today that, as far as boyfriend/girlfriend dating goes, I am indeed oblivious.  But in the mommy world, there is another (although not altogether different) kind of dating.

Playdating.

And I'm pretty good at playdating.  Why?  Because I've been "on the market" for seven years.  I can ask someone out with nary a nervous jitter.  I can hang with a new mom and her kids no problem.  I'm an old pro at 'first dates'.

Which is why today was a bit painful.

It all started two weeks ago at the park.  My husband and I had taken the children to the playground after dinner and by and by we struck up a conversation with a charming couple.  As we were chatting, their daughter (barely four) run up saying she'd asked Paige (my kid) over to spend the night "and she said YES!".

Which is adorable.  And also, NO.  Because, HELLO child you are FOUR and also you just met this (perhaps nice, but only THREE YEAR OLD) kid.

So the mother and I (after patting their heads and letting them down gently) exchanged phone numbers and promised both girls we would meet soon for a playdate.

Fast forward to today. We (me, William, Paige, The Other Mom, her daughter, her two year old boy) met at the zoo.

The first rattle out of the box she was late.  Not terribly (like 5 minutes), but she (very kindly) texted to say they were ALMOST THERE!  When she approached I could tell she was flustered.  Why? Because she'd just gotten a two and four-year-old out the door and to the zoo by 9:30am - WITH packed lunches, snacks, and sippy cups.  AND she was pushing a double stroller.

Meanwhile, I was standing there with a dollar in my pocket for a bottle of water and a bag of dried cherries.  No stroller.  No lunches.  Nothing.  Why? BECAUSE MY KIDS ARE OLD. 

Then her children (including her precious daughter who was the PICTURE of DELIGHTFUL at the park two weeks ago) proceeded to act terribly the entire day.  There were fits.  There was crying.  There was disrespect and unreasonable demands.  And there were more tantrums.  And then?  Her two year old ran away and/or tried to climb every fence we encountered.

God bless this poor mother, she was mortified.

And of course, OF COURSE my children were perfect.  Like, they never -  NEVER ONCE - forgot their manners.  They stayed right beside me.  They were calm and respectful.  They all but had halos and little harps.

And it was KILLING ME.  I kept WILLING one of them to be an asshole just so this mother would see that MY kids can be bad too!  Because they totally can be!  I swear!  I do not know who these robot pod-children ARE.

Here's the thing:  This mother handled each and every episode with her children with grace.  She never once lost her patience.  She corrected them each and every time they were naughty.  She disciplined perfectly.  Truly.  Perfectly.

At one point I put my arm around her and told her my kids have bad days too, but I don't think she believed me.  (Stupid angel children with their harps!)

I cannot TELL you how happy I was when Paige cried and stomped her feet when we had to leave.

As we were walking away, this mother said "I really hope you'll give us another chance!".

Bless her.  We totally will.

The dating scene can be so rough.

Bipolar Fashion

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So here's me today:

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If I know you in real life, chances are you've seen me wear this outfit A LOT this summer.  I lived in my maxi skirt.  It's made of super soft cotton t-shirt material, and it has a yoga pant-style waist (that folds over).

In other words, it's like wearing pajamas. 

Sadly, it's 90 degrees in Oklahoma today.  NINETY.  Which means I'm back to wearing my Summer standby outfit.

So much for "fall" fashion.

And speaking of fashion. Do you have a "signature style"?  Because this "Blog Your Fall Fashion" thing has made me realize that I do NOT.

I have never felt that I have much "fashion sense".  Or maybe it's just that I don't really feel like I have a "style".  I see girls like Emery (who can spend $5 at a thrift store and look AMAZING), and women like my friend Susan (who looks like she stepped straight off the pages of J. Crew every. single. day) and I often feel jealous that they've developed a personal style.  I can walk through a store any day of the week and see things and think "now *that* looks like Emery". 

I guarantee no one ever says that about ME.

With me, it's like I've got Fashion Bipolar Disorder.  One day I'm all preppy with my button-down shirt tucked in.  The next I'm all bohemian in a maxi-skirt and sandals.  I really *wish* I could pick a certain style, but the problem is, I LIKE THEM ALL!  I want to wear them all!

Which means my closet looks like a crazy person lives here.

Huh. Now that I think about it, maybe my closet is right.

The Walmarts

So, um, two of the five items I'm wearing today came from Walmart.

What does that say about me?

Wait.  Don't answer that.

The sweater is (old) from The Limited.

Keepin' it Real

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I'm wearing yoga pants today.  Yoga pants with holes. 

And a tank top.  With stains.

And tennis shoes.  With a hole BURNED into them.  (See the right shoe there?  Yeah, my pinky toe actually HANGS OUT the hole is so big. *sigh*)

And before you judge, please consider the following:

1) I was sick yesterday.
2) Because I poisoned myself.
3) With OTC Melatonin.
4) No, really
5) No really, I swear.
6) Today I had to homeschool my first grader.
7) It took him FORTY FIVE EARTH MINUTES to color this:

Yes.  I said 45 minutes.

8) That assignment was our first of the day.
9) It was a long day.
10) I also haven't showered today.
11) At least you can't smell me.

This One's Dedicated to Theresa



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I wear this dress at LEAST once per week.  In fact, I got into a weird routine of wearing it on Wednesdays - which is the day I always see my friend Theresa.  Which means that, for going-on 8 weeks my friend thought I owned ONE DRESS.

And she went 8 weeks before saying anything.  God bless her soul.

And now?  I intentionally wear it on Wednesdays just to get her goat. 

She'll be so glad to know I opted to wear this on a Monday (finally!), and by the end of the week I will have photographic evidence that I own SIX MORE OUTFITS.

She's never going to believe it.

Calling Don Draper

Day 2 of Fall Fashion Week:

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Brought to you by Kenneth Cole (shoes) and Target (dress).

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Emery's Fall Fashion Week!

Hooray!  It's time for another installment of Emery's Fashion Week!

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Well, "hooray" for me... because I get to spy on all of my bloggy friends and see what they're wearing.

Unfortunately for YOU, you have to look at MY outfits for an entire week. Which is going to get a little boring... because I'm not what you'd call 'hip' or 'cool' or 'trendy'. 

Cheap.  You could call me "cheap".  That's about it. 

Today Dave had meetings all day long (Yes! On a Saturday! BUMMER!), so neighbor Susan and her family adopted me and the kids for the day - we played at the park before lunch, and then they had us over for dinner (Pasta! Bread! CAKE!).  God bless my sweet neighbors - they made the time fly by.

Since I didn't have anywhere to go (or anyone to impress - poor Wade and Susan have seen me in my pajamas, sadly) - you're going to have to try not to judge my boring (BORING!) Saturday-night-at-the-neighbors outfit.

I also made Susan take my picture.  Is there NOTHING she will not do for me?

I *will* say that I am LOVING my new khaki skinnies from The Walmarts ($12.99, y'all!).  They're great with flats now, and they'll be perfect come fall with tall boots.

Very Important Decisions

Ok, Internet, I need your help. 

Specifically, I need you to tell me if I need to whitewash my new (FREE! RECYCLED!) coffee table.  Or should I leave it as-is?

Let's all remember the "inspiration photo":

So cute! And Cheap!

 And here's what *my* version looks like as placed in my formal living room (YES! You heard me! I said I was putting an electrical wire spool IN MY FORMAL LIVING ROOM.):

I took LOTS of photos. I don't know why.  Stop asking.

Also? Should I add the  nifty dowels to make it a bookshelf thingy (like the inspiration photo), or should I leave it more table-y?  I *have* added stainless steele casters like the photo.  Just so you know.

I realize you need all of the facts to make this important decision.

Credit :: Here

I saw this table recently on Pinterest and decided it would make the perfect (FREE!) coffee table.  It just so happens that my brother is an electrician, so all I had to do is convince him to bring me one of those wooden spools!  No problem, right?

Turns out, RIGHT! (I've always been able to bully him into doing things my way - it's a big sister gift.)

And then?  After I sweet-talked him into bringing me a spool, he even offered to 1) deliver it 2) trim it down to coffee table height.

Bless his ever-loving heart!

Folks, it's really handy to have handy relatives.

I plan to white wash it and add a glass top.

Wait! Don't judge! I'm not done yet!

It will either turn out really cool, or it will end up looking like an item from a construction site sitting in the middle of my living room.

Barbara Streisand

Last Friday I was cruising down the highway, minding my own business, when I was ATTACKED!

By poop.

Specifically, I was BOMBED by a passing cattle transport trailer. 

You guys!  I was the victim of a Drive-By Pooping!

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Isn't that just... just... total bullsh&%!

Harharhar.

Thank Goodness We Found Each Other

Happy Anniversary to the weirdest man I know.

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Love,

Your weird wife.

This is a Test

Welcome to my first attempt at iphone blogging.

So far? It kind of sucks.

Typing with two fingers on a miniature keyboard is a touch annoying.

Just a touch.

But on the bright side, just think of all the fodder I'm bound to create for www.damnyouautocorrect.com!



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Rest in Pieces

**imagine a photo here of Dave blowing out his candles**

Today is Dave's birthday.  Which is good! Hooray! I'm so glad he was born (for a myriad of reasons).

My computer, however, has died.  Which is decidedly BAD.

Like, so bad that I'm experiencing grief not unlike what you'd equate to the death of a beloved pet, or perhaps an especially sweet great-aunt.

I am very VERY sad, is what I'm trying to tell you.

I have no idea what this means for this here blog.  I cannot imagine running next door to Susan every time I have some trivial thought that I just MUST share with The Internets.

In the mean time, when I'm not lying in bed sucking my thumb and clutching my dead Sony laptop to my heaving chest, I will be on Twitter.

I suppose you'll have to be happy with 140 characters of me for a while.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go pick out something black to wear. 


ps - I'm blogging tonight from Dave's computer.  But I'm not even going to ASK him to give me his computer.  At least not today.  Because, you know, it's his Birthday and all. 

No Worries

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My friend Susan has had a hard life year.  The latest debacle involves her husband losing his job.  Add that to a list including things like burying both of her parents before the age of 35, and you have the makings for a sad country song.

And yet, she seems to be whistling dixie most of the time.  She would say her happy tune is mostly due to ostrich-like denial and copious amounts of white wine.

I say it's something bigger.  Susan has an incredible ability to NOT worry about things she cannot control. 

My GOD what I wouldn't give for this skill!  I routinely call her and launch into some nonsensical fretting diatribe about my children or the weather or even DEATH, and she always reminds me that I'm worrying about things I cannot control.

Well, she doesn't really say it like that.  Normally, she just says "OH MY GOD WOULD YOU LISTEN TO YOURSELF? YOU'RE BEING RIDICULOUS".

But I know what she means.  It's just no good to fret about things.

Or maybe she doesn't have to worry, because I'm doing it for her.  I worry about the strain this job loss is putting on her.  I worry her husband's career will take her to another state - far away from me, and more importantly, from her grandchild. 

I just worry.

And honestly, if MY worrying means SHE doesn't have to - well, I'm more than happy to oblige.

They don't make 'um any better than my sweet friend Susan.  They just don't.

I drove to her town (about 90 minutes away) today just so I could hug her neck.  Plus, I needed to see if she was really doing as well as she claims (It's hard to tell over the phone sometimes).

Turns out, she's just fine.  Of course she is.

She's not worried.

Look Out Your Window

Guess what?  There's a full moon! 

Which means that my closet is not only organized by color, but each and every piece of clothing his a) clean, and b) ironed.

My pantry? Organized.
My bank statement? Balanced.
My toilets? Scrubbed.
My floors? You could eat off of them.

I even lined up all of my Keurig coffee pods by flavor. 

I'm slightly bothered that the labels aren't precisely lined up.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am the cleanest, most organized, most docile werewolf the world has ever known.

Or, I'm completely insane.

One of those.

On Loan

I recently read CS Lewis' book The Great Divorce.  I'll be honest, I'd never even HEARD of this book before it was assigned in our book club.  I've read the entire Narnia series (also by Lewis), and have even read the first two Narnia books aloud to William. 

It turns out, The Great Divorce is another Christian allegorical novel just like the Narnia books.  Haha! Doesn't that make me sound smart? "Christian allegorical novel"?  Oh PLEASE, I had to look that whole phrase up on Google after I heard it uttered at book club on Saturday!  An "allegory" is just another name for metaphor - which means that Lewis tries to teach us something about the Bible through the use of symbolism.

He's sneaky that way.

The Great Divorce is about a man who finds himself on a bus from purgatory to the foothills of heaven.  He witnesses each person (ghost) being greeted by a "spirit" from heaven (someone they knew in life).  Each spirit tries to convince his/her ghost to forsake their earthly idols and come with them into the mountains of heaven.  And one by one each ghost talks himself into getting back onto the return bus bound for purgatory. 

It was a decent novel. A bit taxing to read, really.  But the conversation at book club was fascinating.  As we went around the room talking about the book, it became clear (at least to me) that each one of us identified with a different ghost - and a different "earthy idol". 

Mine?  Was the mother - grief stricken at the loss of her child - who was furious when she got off the bus and was NOT greeted by the spirit of her dead child.  Instead, her assigned spirit was a different person she'd known in life.  The spirit tried to convince her to let go of her grief, that her love for her child was greater than her love for God.  In the end, she was so angry and resentful that she got back on the bus.

Whoa.  Heavy.

When I told the group that this was the part of the book that stood out for me.  That I thought modern-day parenting leaned toward "idolizing" our children, a mother spoke up and said "Oh, huh, I've always known that my children are simply on loan to me, I've never presumed that they were MINE".

I want you to know that this one sentence has stayed with me for DAYS now. DAYS!  What a profound statement!  Does everyone parent with this in mind?  Am I the only jerk who has been worried that MY children (because they're MINE), are a reflection of ME?  I remember when my kids were small, being horrified when they were naughty in public, because what would people think OF ME.  I dress them and bathe them and teach them manners and their alphabet all because I worry that if I don't, then I will be perceived (if only by myself) as a Bad Mother. 

My entire paradigm shifted with her words.  "My kids are on-loan to me".  They're just here with me - loaners - for a short time.  Then they belong to the world, the community, the universe.  My job is to do my best for them in the short time I have them.  They don't belong to me.  They are not a reflection of me. 

They are not MINE. 

Now, I don't think this revelation will change a single one of my behaviors.  My children will still be well-groomed.  They will still have manners.  They will still be expected to behave.  I will still do my best to teach them. But not because of some self-serving wish on my part that they "represent".  No, because just like when someone loans you their car, you take care of it.  You don't wreck it while it's in your care.  And when you return it, you run it through the car wash and fill it up with gas.  You return it better than you found it, right?  That's what you do when someone is kind enough to loan you something. 

You return it better than you found it.

Weekend by Numbers

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1. William referred to it as "the week of parks".  The weather was so perfect we went to three different parks last week.
2. Picnic.
3. Sitting center field at the ballpark for a free kid movie. Amazing fun.
4. 7:30am book club.  This time we discussed CS Lewis' "The Great Divorce"




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5. Inspired by Rachel, I wore a RED dress and RED lipstick today. Woo. I'm out of control.
6. Amusement park with Nana and Poppa.
7. Adrenaline junkies.
8. Nephew.  Adorable, adorable

Not pictured:

1. My in-laws, who were in town for a wedding.
2. Susan, who hosted us for dinner on Saturday night. Mmmm. Mexican food.
3. My husband, who was there for every event this weekend, but strangely not in any of the photos.
4. My dog, who is 80 years old (in human years) and could not be bothered to get out of bed.

I Can't Bear It

My husband comes from a long line of joke-tellers.  Specifically, they like the use of puns.

Which means that, when I am in the presence of anyone from Dave's extended family, I can fully expect for someone to make some "punny" joke - and I can respond by groaning audibly.  Because puns are Just. So. Bad.

And since my husband knows that puns make me groan, he is sure to make them as often as possible.  Of course he does!

Which brings me to today.

But before I tell you about today, I need to give you some background information.  That information being that this will be remembered as the summer of broken 'bearings' at our house.  First, the bearings went out on our boat trailer.  Do I have any idea what bearings ARE?  OF COURSE I DON'T.  Because I'm a girl.  Girls aren't SUPPOSED to know about bearings.

That's why we get married.   For free lawn care and vehicle maintenance.  Everybody knows that.

All I know is that bad bearings meant that we had to 1) buy a fancy jack with which to elevate the trailer and 2) my husband had to spend an afternoon UNDER the trailer doing repairs.

Then?  The front bearings went out on my husband's truck.  Repair cost: $250.

THEN? The rear bearings went out on my husband's truck this week.  THAT cost us $700.

I still don't exactly know what bearings ARE, but I know I HATE THEM.

Alright.  Now you're up to speed. 

Internet, I now present to you an email from my husband sent to me today discussing our latest bearing debacle.

First there was this message:

Babe,
I spoke to Kevin Rice today at the south side Firestone and he said all the numbers checked out on our $747 repair bill yesterday.
I was sure hoping he would be able to save us a couple hundred bucks.
-Dave

And my reply:

Oh well. As Dave Ramsey says “when you’re broke, Murphy comes to live in your spare bedroom”. Or in our case, in our bearings. *sigh*
- Rita

And of course, he could not resist a punny retort:

I guess we need to be ‘bearing’ in mind that this too shall pass.
-Dave

Not to be outdone, I sent back my own pun (hey, if you can't beat 'um, join 'um)

Yep. Just grin and bear it.
-Rita

But, as usual, Dave totally topped me by sending a single photograph with no words or description:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my husband took time out of his busy day to search the Internet for a photo of a Bear Ring.

And upon receipt of the email, I (predictably) groaned audibly.

*Sigh*

Perspective

I went to church tonight.  Which is rare.  I'm not really a Wednesday Night Church Go-er.  But, a guy was hosting a class entitled "Asking the Hard Questions" and tonight's subject was "Why Does God Let Bad Things Happen to Good People".

Dude.  I wanted to hear THIS.  A theologian answering a question I've asked myself a zillion times - haven't YOU?

And so I gathered up the kids and we went.  His message was interesting, and conflicted, and a bit confusing.  But I think I came away with a better understanding of what Christians believe. 

But something more happened to me tonight.

You see, I spent today wallowing in self pity.  Poor me couldn't Have Things.  Things like Starbucks and a new pair of jeans and a pedicure.  Because our budget is tight.  Waaaaah!  Poor me who has a big house in a nice neighborhood and healthy children and dozens of friends and a family who loves me. 

Poor poor pitiful me.

And then I went to this class tonight and heard people in the audience ask questions about their struggle with the death of a child.  They asked about pediatric cancer. They wanted to know why God let this happen.  And then someone asked why God would stand by and let things like child abuse and birth defects happen? Just, WHY?

And the teacher obliged by carefully and respectfully answering them. 

And while I watched him handle their questions about Real Problems and Real Suffering, I began to see how incredibly petty I'd been.

If it is true what they say - that God only gives us what we can handle - then He apparently thinks I'm only strong enough to deal with ugly feet and an outdated closet.

And I'm totally ok with that.

We're Free!!

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I don't know if I've mentioned it here before*, but it's been a touch hot here in Oklahoma this summer.

*yes, I know I've mentioned it every single day this summer.  Stop looking at me like that!

The "heat dome" (as the weather men have called it) settled over the south and just cooked us dry all summer.  I have no idea how many days it was over 100 degrees, I lost count after 52.  (Did you hear me? I said FIFTY TWO DAYS LIVING IN AN OVEN! AN OVEN ON BROIL, Y'ALL!)

It was hot here this summer, is what I'm sayin'.

And just as strangely as it appeared, the heat dome just disappeared on Sunday.  Poof!  Gone! The highs have been in the 80's.  THE EIGHTIES.  That's fully 25 degrees cooler than it was just a few days ago.

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The English language does not contain the proper adjectives to describe my joy.  There are simply no words.

Now if you will excuse me, I've got to go find me a sweater!

Glimpse

I have to admit to you  that it's weird for me to have two children that look nothing like me.  My boy looks so much like my husband that it's almost haunting.  And my girl looks exactly like my Aunt Susie. 

Somehow in the great genetic lottery MY chromosomes just laid down and played dead. 

But the other day I was sorting through some old photos and found one of me at three years old (exactly Paige's age).


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And I've decided that maybe Paige looks a itty bitty bit like me after all.
Ok.  Just a little?  A tiny bit?

Oh never mind.  Even *I* can't see it anymore.

I'm Big Time (?)

So here's what happened, all in the space of one day:

First,  I received an actual, bonafide letter FROM GOOGLE saying that I'd earned a whopping $37.08 last month just because people clicked on THEIR advertisements from MY blog.  Which means, somehow, I MADE MONEY from this here website.

I'm very important at Google.  Veeeery important.

And there is no possible way any of you can find this more ridiculous that I do.  Me? Earning money?  From THIS?  You've got to be kidding.

NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING.  Because let's just IMAGINE how many cupcakes cookies and ice cream vegetables $37.08 will buy! Folks, at this rate, I stand to make THREE FIGURES this year!

I? Am Big Time.

And THEN, in the very same day that I became AN EMPLOYEE OF GOOGLE*, I was also invited to attend the Oklahoma Bloggers Night Out.

*"Employee" might be a slight exaggeration.  Slight.

I thought I was invited to this blogger event because I live next door to Susan.  Susan being an Actual Real-Live Blogger.  And I also know Rachel, who, in addition to being an Actual Real Live Blogger is also an amazing (AMAZING) graphic designer.  And in all honesty, that might really BE why I was invited. 

But look at this!  They put MY name on the list with all the other REAL bloggers!



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And? AND! In addition to meeting (and being included with) all of these fabulous women THERE WAS SWAG. (That's FREE STUFF for all of you non-Big-Timers).

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My goodness, if I keep this up, I'll start to get all snooty and full of myself!

Well, as snooty as a reclusive, overweight suburban housewife/blogger can get anyway.




I would be remiss if I didn't properly thank the sponsors of this event.  I mean, that's what Real Bloggers do, right? 

So THANK YOU to the following local businesses who supported our evening.  You. Are. AWESOME!

Uptown Kids, Cuppies and Joe, Chirps and Cheers, The Make-Up Bar, Langston's, Cheever's Cafe, Blue Seven, Kelly Beal

How Enriching!

Everyone warned me about this pseudo-homeschooling thing.  The veteran moms said that the first six weeks are the hardest.  And I absolutely believed them. So, I did everything I could think of to prepare myself both physically and mentally.  I'm a planner.  And folks, I had myself a plan.

And so?  The schooling has been an absolute breeze.  Apparently I properly girded my loins.  Go me!

And yet.

I find myself totally caught off guard NOT by the schooling aspect of things, but my the ENORMOUS amounts of free time we seem to have.  And somehow, these free hours seem harder to fill than they did just two weeks ago.  Which is odd considering I managed to entertain my kids all summer with no problem.

Now, though, I feel like I need to be Doing Something.  Specifically, Something Meaningful or Educational.  Because, I mean, I'm part TEACHER now, aren't I?  In our spare time, shouldn't I be teaching my children botany by planting an organic garden or in the very least, how to sew their own clothes?

Letting them vegetate in front of Sponge Bob seems entirely out of the question now that I'm THEIR TEACHER, right?  A Good Mother (and all homeschooling freaks are Good Mothers, yes?) would take every opportunity throughout the day to have teachable moments.

And so, in this vein of insanity thoughts, we did lessons for an hour this morning, and then we loaded up in the car for a Special Trip downtown to the new(ish) Oklahoma City Public Library.  This place is AMAZING.  And the children's area alone is just mind blowing.  Just think of all the "new experiences" and "learning opportunities" there would be!

Except, no one could find their shoes so getting out the door was aggravating.  Then? Every single street in downtown OKC is under construction.  Not to mention they're all one-way streets (which confuses this suburbanite).  And parking?  Was a NIGHTMARE.  Especially when the children are saying "are we lost?" and "are you sure you know where you're going?" from the back seat.

It was stressful, is what I'm saying.

But!  We persevered and found a metered spot only 3 blocks away from the library! But the children (poor pitiful suburbanites themselves) knew nothing of the proper way to cross a busy city street.  So they tried to commit unintentional suicide at least a dozen times on the walk to the library.  By the time we crossed the threshold of the library doors I needed a stiff drink. 

Sadly, the library does not have a bar. 

We played and read stories.  Well, that's not entirely true.  The children played, and I wandered the aisles trying to find books for them.  Except, it turns out I am totally overwhelmed by all the choices at the library.  We ended up checking out three books that I randomly found sitting out on the tops of the shelves because I took it as a sign from God that they were there for me. 

It's like I played the Library Lottery.

Then we played Traffic Plinko all the way back to our car and only managed to have one person honk at us.  Unfortunately, the honking made the baby cry.  And since William was with  me, I couldn't even consider using obscene hand gestures at the driver.  (Ok, in all fairness, I've never actually flipped someone off.  I'm way too chicken.  But IF I were a flipper-offer, today would have been the day.)

Then we went to lunch.  Where we ordered pizza and then waited 10 minutes past ETERNITY for our food.  But it was fine because we brought our Library Lottery books to read while we waited! So smart right?

Except, then we left the books at the pizza place and didnt' realize until we were buckled into the car a block away.

And this is when I cried.  Not loudly.  And I was wearing sunglasses so the children were unaware.  But still.  I cried.

So really, all of my efforts to provide "stimulation" and "education" and "new experiences" really only resulted in my children learning that their mother is a stressed-out, unstable freak.

Which, sadly, they already knew.

Really, the learning today was done by me.  I learned that sometimes, Sponge Bob really IS the best answer.