woke up in a funk and went to Target

If you prefer the Sparknotes version of things ... see the title. That about covers it.

If not ... welcome to not-worthy-of-a-story-time.

I woke up in a really nasty mood. Julia and her selfish allergies are keeping us both from sleeping more than forty freaking five consecutive minutes at a time at night and I know I know I know spotty sleep just comes with the parenting territory but I'm just a little tiny bit tired and a lot a bit frustrated. Simon is going to spend way more time at the hospital than at home this weekend so I'm very preoccupied internally brooding and girding my loins for that bowlful of fun and I was passed by one too many too-spry-for-their-running-undies marathoner-sprinters on my 14 minute wog this morning and by the time I got home I was shocked not to see a rhinoceros staring back at me in the mirror.

The kids have recently (as in: today) learned how to bicker without speaking the English language and I stupidly trusted their 4 minutes of blessed silence while I drank my white chocolate creamer in peace only to find Julia putting a long enough moratorium on her Sebastian angst to generously feed him his third breakfast: a healthy portion of my new not cheap face potion. So I took the 45 painful minutes to get the kids dressed in their last semi-clean outfits, licked the grime off their faces, clipped Julia's signature fake flower into her bowlcut, and loaded them up in the semi for a selfish trip to my happy place.

I was only going to scope out and purchase every single kind of cough syrup to add to our little collection, take a tiny peek at the clothing, carefully avoid any aisles that might contain any sort of Dora or Diego alarm, and see if there were any new creamer flavors on clearance. But we all know that all Target trips start with the best of and the most innocent intentions. I convinced myself that I should probably try on a shimmery baseball tee because "it could definitely work as maternity" and it was "totally practical" for all those trendy things I do on the daily. Sebastian grabbed and started gnawing on a pair of black leggings that were "oh! in my size and if any non-maternity article of clothing was meant to double as bump-friendly it would totally be black leggings" even though my bottom half always has and always will look terrible in 99% lycra. And then the floral denim parted and the birds on the shirt dresses sang as I was helplessly drawn to these. I'm in that terrible 'nothing fits but I'm not quite ready to commit to my old maternity drobe' stage and the pull on denim with elastic waistband (yes, I believe those are just good old fashioned jeggings but I'm a marketing campaign's dream -- a big, fat sucker) sang to me. After a noisy and lengthy date with the kids and the family fitting room I decided that they would totally carry me through the new year and the fourth trimester of postpartum terror and bought a pair in both available colors and I will be in big trouble if they start launching those puppies in patterns and colors.

We rolled through the check-out line with my non-maternity maternities, three new kinds of syrup hopefuls, and guffawy accusations that I was lying about the kids' ages. The cashier all but refused to believe that Sebastian was not a hearty two year old and that Julia was not in Kindergarten. Fair enough assessments but I'm kind of surprised she wasn't more convinced when Julia's only answer to her multitude of loud and enunciated questions was a blank look, a nuzzle with her blanket, and a barely audible, "sanks" as we finally escaped her lofty predictions about Sebastian's future on the football field.

What does it all mean? Where does that leave us?

Nothing and nowhere exotic ... just perched at my parenting post with the help of a lot of elastic.

pull it together, Bash. Football players laugh in the face of one shoe on uneven terrain.

 And as for those less important purchases ...

(not pictured: a teaspoon of honey that was promptly rejected and laid to rest in a nest in the patient's hair at some ungodly hour of yesternightmornwhatev)

... before you roll your eyes at my pathetic desperation please know that the the homeopathic wonder I got down her hatch before naps was worth every penny because Julia is taking the first 2+ hour cough-free nap of the week as I type type type type this out for you and I might just cry tears of sheer happiness after I do a jig in my jegs in the street. Although it probably would've been a lot less expensive to just pay our deductible and have her entire head removed and replaced. But I guess we'll never know.