Some Most days I feel like a crazy lady.
You know, the one in hippie girl pants, dreadlocks screaming at the top of her head, totting a toddler in pj bottoms, rain boots 2 sizes to big and breakfast all over his jacket.
She is also either late or very early (rarely exactly right on time) and has either had way to much coffee or not nearly enough (rarely does she hit that sweet spot).
She has a ‘system’ for organizing that includes Important Things in the junk drawer, the desk, the shelf in her bedroom and the vans passenger seat.
She forgot picture day 2 years in a row.
She was recently sent to collections for the second time in her life. For the same thing. Library Fines.
She serves her kids cake for breakfast. Often.
She hasn’t discovered the reason for The Smell in her car, but knows it has been three for the past two weeks.
She just rearranged the rooms. Again. Now her boys have slept in every bedroom of the house.
Laundry? What? And yes, that is Sharpie on the door.
She is refusing the grocery store and therefore will be making a combination of lentils, corn tortillas and eggs for dinner.
Hmmm. Maybe the crazy lady should go to the store.
After she puts on a bra