Maybe my oldest was a little less of a death/thrill seeker.
Maybe I am just falling apart in general, but at some point I totally lost all grip on sanity when it comes to grocery shopping.
Shopping day is Wednesday, which is not so coincidentally payday as well. I have grown to like Mondays even more than Wednesdays recently.
Perhaps it is the gripping heat combined with humidity, or the fact I sleep in non consecutive four hour increments, or that I have decided to wage a personal war on all the crap in my house while simultaneously doing a deep clean upon learning my in-laws may be visiting soon ... but I pretty much open my eyes on Wednesday and want to call in dead.
But I don't get that luxury.
The Beans could star in a sideshow for which the posters could read: "Houdini Baby can escape anything!" Just below it in smaller print could read the tag line: "Unleashes a sonic-boom-bat-screech you just have to hear to believe!"
We'd need people to sign wavers though, as they'd never hear again and that has lawsuit written all over it.
So while I was racing through grabbing the basic stuff we needed one handed while trying to keep a hand hooked around Beans to keep him where the seat belt in the cart apparently can't and trying to stuff enough Apple Wagon Wheels in his mouth to keep it too busy to start screaming, I saw it.
It was beautiful.
A whole rack of beauty.
And I succumbed.
|<3 <3 <3|
Take this as a lesson in cause and effect.
I took my children grocery shopping.
I bought sangria.
A big bottle of it.