You know those days when everyone wakes up late so you rush through breakfast and school drop-offs, and you rush so much that your hit a curb with your car and blow out a tire, so you walk the baby and 3-year-old the remaining half mile to school and then your husband cancels a meeting to come change your flat tire and you call the dealership, who can fit you in for a tire change and the routine maintenance that was due 500 miles ago, so then you have your SIL come watch the baby while you get the car fixed up but she can’t stay long so you also call your neighbor to come relieve her and then you get to the dealership and they tell you they don’t have the right tire so come back tomorrow—that shouldn’t be a problem, should it? So you send your SIL and neighbor home and call your mom to babysit the kids the next day because the dealership will just fit between your morning volunteering and the afternoon play date you’re hosting and then you sneak a little chocolate ice cream because you could really use some right then, and then you go pick up your 3-year-old from school and talk to everyone you see there, and then you come home and notice a gigantic plop of chocolate ice cream right between your boobs?
Yeah. Me too.
And because I didn’t think to take a picture of the chocolate ice cream, this one best describes my day: