I walked in, breathed the scent of new clothes, and started wandering. First, I found an amazing belted trench coat with brown zebra stripes. The arms were too short. Drat.
Then all of a sudden, I heard voices singing, and lights were shining down and guiding me towards racks full of jeans. (I think it was divine intervention. But there is a slight chance it was just the radio and overhead lighting.) ANYway.
It was my lucky night. I scored 3 pairs of Seven jeans! I quicky drove home to tell my husband how much money I had just saved him!
Fast forward to this morning. John was not cooperating. He didn't want to eat. I still managed to get three kids off to three different schools at three different times. (I just said three, three times.) I had people to see, places to go, wearing my new jeans of course.
After running out of Target with some new silver ballet flats, ($6!!!!!!!!!) I went to pick John up. They told me that he was complaining of a tummy ache all morning. So I made it better by taking him to Chick-Fil-A. We met a friends, he played, ate, and drank a very large cookies and cream milkshake. On our way home, he started crying and saying his tummy hurt again. I may or may not have said something that sounded like "I told you not to drink that entire milkshake." The crying got louder, and I realized that he was probably about to throw up. And I
So again, I did what I knew I must do. I swerved across another lane of traffic, and onto a side street. Throwing the car in park, I jumped out of my seat, grabbed him, and turned him away from me with only one arm. Is it bad that I was thinking about not wanting puke on my new jeans as he vomited into some poor, unsuspecting person's yard?
I'm proud to say that there is no vomit in my car, I saved his shirt, and my jeans stayed clean. All in a day's work.