Mother of the Year

The highlight of my morning? Cussing in front of half-a-dozen toddlers. Not the F-bomb, at least, but a nice shrapnel spray of dammit.

I won't say it was entirely without cause. On top of the sore throat I'm nursing for the second day in a row and the late start we got (which I admit was entirely my fault), I'm wearing heels today, and I had Alex in one arm, and was precariously clinging to a double-pack of diapers, and Penny -- who'd been helping me carry the extra-large package of wipes -- frantically said they were slipping out of her grasp just as we reached the daycare door, so I took them from her and now I'm trying to balance 25 pounds of boy plus probably ten pounds of slippery plastic packages that are bigger than the boy and punch the door code into the lock and Alex is leaning and wiggling because he wants to put , and everything is collapsing just as I get the door open and my foot wedged in it, and that's the moment that Penny decided to turn around and start a conversation with a friend of hers in the parking lot.

So I burst out with, "Penny, get in here, dammit!" just as the daycare director was coming out of the two-year-old room, which is right by the front door.

Nice one, Liz.

And I get to wrap this up quickly, because I've just been informed that one of my people spent all yesterday twiddling her thumbs and is bidding fair to spend the rest of the week at it, too.

Are we sure today isn't Monday?