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This Is Your Brain, This Is Your Brain on PMS

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I head out the door, late, with my seven-year-old to pick up my four-year-old at daycare, as the hubby is down for the count with some horrible sinus infection.


The four-year-old has meltdown after struggling to buckle her seatbelt in the dimly lit SUV and the seven-year-old calling is calling her a baby.


I threaten the children with the “NO COOKIE at Publix” decree.


I arrive at store quite befuddled as the children bicker the entire way.


I realize upon walking across parking lot that I do not have the VERY CRITICAL chili recipe printout for the weekend and the VERY CRITICAL grocery list, as snow is in the forecast, and so help me God, what if we don’t have milk? I do have coupons, though, go figure.


I go back to car and rummage through various and sundry daycare, school, and work papers tossed on to front passenger seat.


I yell at the children to not wander off in parking lot without me.


I give up on finding the recipe OR grocery list.


I enter the store. I call the husband to e-mail me the VERY CRITICAL OR WE WILL SURELY STARVE THIS WEEKEND recipe.


I tell the girls they might be able to have a cookie after shopping if “they are good.” I let them split a Sprite. Caffeinated sugar on empty stomachs … I am mother of the year!


Refresh. Refresh. Refresh you damn iPhone. I’m waiting for the recipe to come through. I realize I’ve been at store ten minutes and I have peanut butter, a green pepper, and an onion in my cart.


Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Damn E-MAIL!


I finally get the e-mail with the VERY CRITICAL chili recipe. I gather the ingredients.


I get to meat department, which is wiped out, apparently due to the forecasted snow. I discuss cuts of meat with the butcher. I spend WAY too much damn time OCDing over meat. (Minds out of the gutter, please.)


I glance over at the children. The four-year-old is climbing out of car cart that she is too freaking old to be in any way and accidentally dumps ALL my ever-loving coupons out of my nifty new coupon organizer all over the floor.


The girls sense my displeasure. Perhaps it was the way I tossed my meat. (Again, minds out of the gutter, please.)


The girls gather the coupons which are all over the place.


Oh, hai! I see a fellow mom from school.


I am suddenly very aware of the fact that I am wearing black yoga pants and a t-shirt from my afternoon workout and haven’t washed my hair in two, OK three, days.


I say hello and joke about coupons all over floor and my attempt to be organized. SO FUNNY.


I begin to flee the store.


For some ungodly reason, I remember one more item. I head to the back of store. The four-year-old insists on “helping” me and is pushing the behemoth cart at a snail’s pace.


I lose patience.


I realize it’s after six and I am still in the grocery and I still need to pick up takeout.


I head to the check out.


The seven-year-old declares that she must go to the bathroom and it can’t wait.


The four-year-old runs after her and nearly gets knocked out as someone leave s the family restroom.


I chase after the four-year-old, wait for her to use restroom and wash her hands. This takes what feels like another ten minutes.


The four-year-old realizes she has never gotten a cookie.


I inform her: no cookie. It is now almost six-thirty and no one has eaten dinner including my poor sick husband who had offered to go pick something up.


The four-year-old cries and lies down on the PUBLIC BATHROOM FLOOR. OMG.


Somehow, I get out of the store and into the car without anyone’s head imploding.


I clearly spot the recipe and grocery list on floorboard.


The End.

Originally published on BlondeMomBlog


 



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