Mother's Day

Mortified

Your normal Friday afternoon. Drag your three year old from his favorite hobby of bothering the dog. Toss him in the car and go to pick up the other three kids from school. Remember while you are in the endless pick up line that your daughter has a birthday party tomorrow. You should probably pick up a present. Take a deep breath and swing by the closest store. Take your shoeless three year old (you weren't planning on stopping anywhere) into the store and put him in the cart with his brother. Walk around a bit while your daughter takes forever to pick a gift. It is just enough time for her brothers to have to go to the bathroom. Trek to the back of the store to take them. Watch one disappear into the men's room before you can intervene. Fight with the younger one to use the woman's so you can "help". Catch the older one coming out and tell him to wait while you finagle the other out. Watch in slow motion as the younger one walks calmly to the emergency exit doors. Hearing yourself say calmly, "No, we aren't going that way, don't touch the..."

EAR PIERCING SIREN ENTER HERE.

Stand there mortified, with your dirty bare foot three year old and his brother with their hands over their ears. The workers are like roaches running over to the exit to silence the alarm.

"Sorry."

Head down. Walk away quick.

Just another Friday.

I can't even blame this craziness on taking all of them with me.