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One-Way Road to Crazy

That I took both kids grocery shopping with me instead of depositing them at home in their father’s care is proof that I had irreverently placed the price of gas ahead of my sanity.  I *shaking head* still don’t know how this happened.  But I can tell you with significant regret why the chicken crossed the road.  And the cow, the cup, the port-a-potty, the elevator, the pair of pants, the diaper and the rock.  And, uh, the box, the cat, the cupcake, and the boot. Only I won’t.  I…I couldn’t do that to you.  

Through three stores, with one child clinging with a single arm to the front of the cart and tagging groceries with his free hand and the other daring me to run over her heels, plus the western Washington travel time to each, there was very little left that had not crossed the road or at least given it a try.

Only no one asked, “Why did mommy cross the road–alone?  But then maybe the answer was too obvious: 

She couldn’t take it anymore.

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