I woke up this morning with wildly unmanageable hair, a baby whose nose was completely boogered over to the point of unbreathable, and a girl too tired to do anything but lie on the living room floor snuggling with her critters and listening to Pandora's toddler station.
Pandora and I have a complicated relationship. She gives me New Orleans Jazz, Memphis Soul, 60's Rock... but then when Pandora tells me that she's having trouble "fetching" the next song I turn into Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, "Yes, fetch away. You are very fetching. So, go fetch." Ugh. The audacity of that website using the word "fetching" is irrationally infuriating.
In the carpool line this morning I noticed all of the other children were hopping out of their cars fully decked out in cowboy attire. Shit. Luckily I never clean out my car so I was able to dig Carolena's pink boots out of the mobile closet we like to call the backseat. I guess her ironed pearl snap shirt will have to wait for the rodeo. Lord knows I can't iron a shirt more than once a month. That's written into my contract, Mr. DeMille. Check it.
Surprisingly, even given those things, it's been a pretty great morning. Perhaps because I drank a cup of coffee? Yes. Certainly that is why.
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