My daughter spent most of our observation time (transit of Venus) playing with rocks. I leather bring home 3. Turns out one was really a clod of hard red clay. I didn't check. Today I find her rubbing and pounding the clay on the real seat that is exposed just to the outside of her carseat with one of the other rocks.
Consequently, we are now at the mall and the kids are in childcare for 2 hours to keep me from selling them. I bought myself the black Starbucks mug I've been coveting for 6 months and picked up the Springsteen and Johnny Cash CDs as well. They will be my summer CDs. I also weighed in 5 lbs heavier than I thought I was, hence the belligerent intake of iced lemon pound cake that I am planning with my chai in my shiny new mug. This after eating my AND my DAUGHTER'S medium waffle fries from Chic-fil-A with, count-em, FOUR servings of Chic-fil-A sauce. "Take that!" says my interior teen, angry and appalled at my physical condition and my age and at having to be a caregiver for others than herself. Take that, body. Take that, wallet. Betray me and you'll be sorry. I'll make you sorry.
What a brat she is. I need to put her in her place. I can always return the CDs... But can I resist the pound cake? Uncertain.