I have had the worst day in the entirety of the history of worst days.

J was late for school, which means I was late for everything, and I wasn’t even dressed yet. So I threw on a coat, all sneaky like, so no one would see I hadn’t changed my shirt (or put on a bra, for that matter) and rolled out the door.
I had also forgotten that I had to run to Target after we dropped J at school for a few things (with K in tow- WooHoo!!!).
There was no rescheduling this Target trip, and by the time that realization sank in, it was too late. It must be done.

I am now damned to wearing a fucking hot coat all throughout Target, or…
No, I am damned to wear this fucking hot coat.

So, it’s a fucking thousand degrees in Target, as usual, but I’m only here for five things, so no biggie. I only lose half my body weight in sweat. I get the mint gum.
K says, “gum!”
Good girl.
I get the baby food. K says, “num num”. I get the cliff bars. I give them to K in hopes that she will stay in her seat. I get the Easter dress. K wants all of the dresses.
To eat. She will not be swayed by the cliff bars.

Time to start with intermittent screams, just for Mommy’s enjoyment.

I get the pillows. There is a sale, yay! And I load up the cart with eight pillows (if you’re interested, that’s how many pillows fit in a cart if you really, really, squish), and inform K that I just loaded the back of the cart with objects that could suffocate her.
I don’t think she heard me above her own screaming.
It’s entirely possible that I’m sweating directly on her at this point. Really, if someone were sweating on me, I’d be screaming too.
Now I’m that lady with the screaming kid.
Worse, I’m that sweaty lady with the screaming kid.
Crowds part before me like I’m Moses.

I get in line, thank God the end is near. I realize that the other three other small things are underneath my pillows.
I take out my eight pillows. I remove the things, along with one pillow, for the crabby register lady to scan.
I squish a quart of sweat and seven pillows back into the cart. K stands up in her seat. I put her and a quart of sweat back in her seat, and then the crabby register lady, who obviously thinks I’m trying to pull some great pillow caper, says:
“I need to scan all of those.”

Fuck you crabby register lady. How bored are you?
I pull another quart of sweat along with all seven previously squished pillows back out of the cart so that crabby register lady can sleep well tonight knowing that sweaty lady with the screaming toddler didn’t get one over on her.

BUT– as I was putting all the stuff in the back of the car, I realized that the cliff bars are still up front with K, accidentally unpaid for.
Eat it, crabby register lady.

I’m finally done. We’re loaded, I’ve removed my coat. We’re going home. K wants animal crackers.
Luckily, the bag is on the passenger seat floor, and the asshole in front of me hasn’t realized the light has been green for ages. I seize the opportunity and grab the bag of animal crackers. It’s open on the other end.
Fuck. (Why is every fucking bag of animal crackers we have open, daddy?) and score a grand total of four animal crackers, as the rest cascade onto the nasty passenger side floor mat.

Daddy, I’m looking in your direction.

I had five animal crackers (she somehow produced one from the depths of her car seat- ew) to keep K, who was late for her nap, quiet for 25 minutes.
Surprisingly, it did not happen.
Oh, and a word to the wise, don’t try to break animal crackers in half on your thigh. You end up with half an animal cracker and a crotch full of crumbs.

By the time we got home, the dog shat his crate. A fucking ginormous crate into which I had to crawl on my hands and knees in order to claim my prize. Why do dogs never shit in the front of the crate? K took her nap, but no rest for me; time to go get the boy child.
Hope your day is better than mine.