I haven't done a Hey, It's Okay Tuesday post in awhile, but today slapped me particularly hard. So, I felt the need to rant it, bullet-style.
And, yes. I'm aware that it's Thursday. Live a little.
Hey, It's Okay . . .
To stand there and just blink for an entire minute to absorb the fact that you just shattered a dresser drawer all over the floor—just because you pulled it out a little too eagerly.
To let your kid play with your keys in the store, even if you know you're going to come outside to find that the back hatch is open, the car is unlocked, and the car is (and has been) running the whole time.
To want to kiss an old lady square on the mouth for helping you carry your bags to your car. (I was at CVS, and they have made it impossible to take a cart into the parking lot. So, shopping with wee Henry is a serious challenge if I end up with more than just a few bags. Let's just say, we were exploding out of the front of the store when the poor woman saw me and offered to help.) Isn't it me that's supposed to be helping the old lady, anyway? Sheesh.
To believe in some sort of force that makes people in a fairly empty store stand right in front of what you need. Forever.
To have no idea how your shopping list ended up not in your purse when you specifically remembered to put it in there.
If your 15 month old apparently knows how to bust into the cabinet and get himself a snack. (Henry polished off the remainder of a box of graham crackers this morning while I was fixing that shattered dresser drawer.)
If you practically have a hot flash (of rage) because your dog breaks out of a double-latched gate. (Apparently, our back yard is just not enough. What's more: it has to hurt him when he breaks out. I can't even imagine how he does it without hurting himself. He is not an intelligent creature.)
If the fact that you couldn't find your keys anywhere when you were trying to get your kid to preschool didn't actually stand out that much in the scheme of all the stupid things that happened this morning. (Willis accidentally left them in a sweatshirt in our bedroom. I had to call him to figure out where they were. I had to look up the number to call him, too.)
To go nearly mad because you cannot, for the life of you, find a set of keys (the fact that these keys are missing led to the key disaster of the morning, by the way) and a penguin in your house. And, by golly, they are under this roof somewhere. (Nora keeps whining, "Mommy! Where's my baby penguin?")
If you want to type, "Get a room!" when people profess their love on Facebook.
If you are so excited about actually having tickets/plans/child care to go see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 that it nearly hurts. In a good way. I just hope I can make it through the whole movie without having to pee.