You know what is hard about blogging? When you want to write, but your brain is stuck on something you are not quite ready to talk about. Of course, anytime you decide to write, that is all your brain can think about.
It is annoying. And can keep me from writing for days.
But not today. I have two stories to tell–one horribly embarrassing and one that I found so cute and encouraging.
We’ll start with my embarrassment. Actually, scratch that, we’ll start with the cute, stick with chronological order…
The girls and I had to go to an appointment today. Patrice asked where we were going. Caitlyn says, “we’re going to the doctor.” “Why??” queries Patrice. “Because you need shots,” my ever so helpful Caitlyn says.
“No I don’t, I had three last time we went!!’
She gotcha there Caitlyn.
On we drive.
As we are getting out of the car at the doctor office, Patrice says, “when you get a shot they say it hurts for a second, but it doesn’t. It hurts for 2 seconds!! So last time I got shots, it hurt for 6 seconds!!”
Now we have been going at multiplication with the older girls hard and heavy lately so I say to her, “did you use multiplication to figure that you?” “Sure mommy, whatever that is!!” “Did you times it Patrice?” “No, I added it on my fingers like this!!”
(Yes, I made her recreate on her pudgy little fingers counting out how her shots hurt for 6 seconds.)
I watched her count and I saw cuteness and hope–hope that THIS kid, unlike the other two, will get multiplication easily when it is her turn!
We finish the appointment and head home. I unlock the front door and drop a few things in the house, then head out for a few more things thinking, I can grab them before I run to the bathroom. I leave the keys in the front door and my phone on the kitchen table. The storm door latches behind me as I head to the car. And STAYS latched no matter how hard I push when I am done in the car. Stays firmly latched. It won’t budge.
Caitlyn swears she didn’t but I absolutely know she laughed at me as I stood there desperately trying to open the door before it was too late. “Go to the neighbors, go to the neighbors mommy.”
“It’s. too. late.”
So then we start looking for a way in…the back door was firmly locked. As were all the windows. The girls kept working on that angle as I wrestled with the storm door. There was no getting the door open, but, in case you were wondering, the top pane of glass comes out of our storm door. And is now sitting safely in the house.
Hubby can put it back in.
I am kind of over this day.
Over and out.