When in doubt...

bake chocolate cake.

At least that's what I decided after a rather crappy mother's day that included me having to eat dinner at IHOP with my in-laws (dinner=me eating four bites of cold soggy pancakes while balancing Little m on my lap and sitting at a table that was literally broken and tilted down, so that I had to hold my plate from sliding off). Mind you, D worked all day Sunday, and so I had the privilege of getting two squirmy girls into (freshly ironed) dresses before D got home from work. After that 'dinner' I came home and made a lunch meat sandwich. Mmmm-mmm.

D was exhausted...you know he works all day...so I gave the girls their bath and the whole tantrum thing was my responsibility. Then, at 11pm I noted we were out of sippy cups. And I had the silly notion that I would get to sleep in Monday, so I unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher.

Monday I didn't get to sleep in, but I did get a back rub and an apology, so it evens out. I decided to take Little d shopping for shoes and other stuff at Target while D stayed with Little m during her nap. Huh. I go in this morning to tell her I wanted to take her shopping for new shoes and a bathing suit and pick out a gift for her aunt and I am met with...whining. "But I want to scrapbook while Little m naps!!" Sheesh.

How have I made it thus far with a child and never taken her shoe shopping? (Usually I grab a pair and hope it fits...usually it doesn't). Well today we made history. It exhausted me. Bending over and taking shoes off and on. Looking and looking for the right size--now she is anywhere between an 11 and a 1. So each style required trying on 3 sizes. And all she wanted was pink glitter ballet flats. Again-sheesh.

Then this evening while I was taking a shower (after walking) the girls spilled blue Gatorade everywhere. The silver lining? They were in the garage with D. So I gave them a bath and then Little d won't listen (shocking) while am trying to brush her hair, so I snap. I scream at her to go downstairs and get Dad to brush her hair. Which...you guessed it...results in full tilt meltdown. On both our parts. She later came an apologized and I did the same, but my brain is still somewhat hovering on bat-shit crazy mode, so I try not to do anything but cry and eat a sandwich.

It occurs to me, when D goes into the garage to finish up his air compressor, that I will bake a chocolate cake. Did you guess it yet? No? Really? I thought the chocolate cake was a giveaway. What if I tell you I want to eat it with sour cream and onion Lays?

That's right. P. M. S.