For your weekend pleasure I present to you four tales of mortification:
1. On Monday I decided to do some major freezer cooking so when we get back I can ease myself back into real life. Among many, many other things I made five chicken pot pies. I thought they looked a little wimpy, but I went with it anyways. To my mortification when I looked in the refrigerator yesterday there were still fifteen cups of shredded chicken sitting in there.
So anyone want to come over for some
chicken pot pie?
2. Two days ago at breakfast, Ava pulled her shirt up and stuck her milk cup up her shirt. When I asked her to stop, she told me she had to because she was feeding her baby. Clearly I have been lactating too long.
3. Last week before church I downed two cups of coffee and a bottle of water on the way in. So I took Lily to go potty when we got there, then again before we went in the sanctuary, and then again right after service. That last time must have been one time to many because Lily stood in the middle of the bathroom and loudly exclaimed, "Mommy, you must have diarrhea!" There is no bouncing back from that one.
4. Last Saturday when all my people had gotten up, we (all five of us) somehow had wondered back to the girls room before breakfast, before diaper changes, and even before I went to the bathroom that morning. Ava in a whirl of excitement slammed the door. It locked. Seriously in a one in a million chance…that stinking door locked. We thought about opening a window and busting out a screen, but since no one had been outside the front and back door were still locked so we still couldn't get in. I still can't understand how exactly it happened, but we spent a tense thirty minutes trapped in the back bedroom without so much as a phone to
take pictures of our predicament call for help. Russ finally finagled the lock open. Next time I disappear from the blog, y'all might want to come check the back bedroom!