Today was the exception to the rule. Lydia and I had a simple task. We had to stop at the grocery store near her daycare to pick up ingredients for our dinner. (Side note: tonight we are enjoying "Pumpking Stuffed with Everything Good"--a pumpkin full of bread, cheese, bacon, garlic, onion, and cream. Does food get better? This dish is a large reason why I consider myself a "flexitarian" rather than "vegetarian".)
Anyway, Lydia and I went to the grocery store. At this particular grocery store, they have carts for "Customers in Training," and per Robin's suggestion, I let Lydia choose a small cart to push. An hour later when we exited the grocery store with two bags of groceries and at least twice as many frazzled nerves, I was cursing myself for not turning around and getting a cart to strap Lydia into and push myself and cursing Robin for the suggestion that Lydia push a cart.
In the car on the way home, Lydia decided that screaming would be a good idea, and I found myself parked in a parking lot giving her a time out. By the time I arrived at our apartment, my head was throbbing, and rather than walk Lydia half a block to the pet store to buy Stanley's food (our other errand we were supposed to run before heading home), I called Robin and asked him to come get her. The thought of trying to navigate the sidewalk and make it through another store with my curious, vocal, grabby toddler who has taken to going limp whenever I really need her to move was just. too. much.
How appropriate was it, then, that when she told me that she had an owie, I turned around in the grocery to see this?