And all I could think was this will be a good story for the blog.

Seemed like a morning just like any other. Drop Aaron off at school, come home for an hour, go to Jazzercise, play at Chik-Fil-A for an hour then pick Aaron up. Well at least that's how it should have gone. Everything was fine up until it was time to leave Jazzercise. Well maybe back up a bit. Olivia didn't want to go to Jazzercise this morning. She whined and cried like I was taking her to the dentist (well she's never really been to the dentist yet, but like I imagine she would if she knew what a dentist was). Oh wait back up even further. Get home from driving Aaron to school and there's a van in my parking spot. Both kids are in feety pajamas because I'm lazy, and didn't get them dressed before taking Aaron to school. (I at first wrote bad parent, but they had jackets on too, so I'm not bad, right?) So I had to carry both of them from the un-numbered parking spots which is MILES away from my parking spot (or maybe just across the street). And there was someone just sitting in the van! I made sure to give him my angriest glare, with a baby on each hip. So back to getting to Jazzercise. Olivia = nightmare. Get her screaming/tantrum throwing butt into the car. She is still throwing a fit when we get there. She's super clingy the whole time, and has to go to the bathroom. Meanwhile there are like 10 other kids in there I'm responsible for taking care of - I can not leave and take her to the bathroom. And she is capable of doing all this on her own. She just doesn't want to. lfkjasioguerjhagnklajgio;a

So then it's time to leave. I take her to the bathroom. While holding Abigail, and wiping her butt. How's that for a mental image. So then we have to walk like 5 feet across the dance floor, to where our shoes are. Olivia suddenly can't walk. Goes limp, cries, begs me to carry her. So again, one baby on each hip, get to our shoes. As I'm putting my shoes on Olivia miraculously regains the use of legs and takes off running around the dance floor with her shoes on. She will not listen to my hisses, yells and threats. I have to take my shoes off (no shoes on the dance floor rule #1) and physically grab her. Sit her in a chair and threaten her with her life if she moves while I put my shoes on. And before I have my feet back in my shoes she is running again. Well that's it, no more Chik-Fil-A. So she screams and cries. And as I'm dragging her to the car by her arm, with Abigail in my other arm, she sounds like she's being taken prisoner. Screaming bloody murder. And then as I go to strap her in her car seat she slaps my face and pulls my hair. OH NO YOU DIDN'T GIRLFRIEND! So her hand gets slapped. She cries and cries and cries and screams and tells me it's not nice to hit. Yeah. Good thinking. So now instead of spending an hour letting her play, and then conveniently going to pick up Aaron right at noon, I have to go home, unload them, find a way to entertain them for 45 minutes, then load them back up into the car and go to get Aaron.

Fortunately we picked up Aaron without much incident. Things were better once he was home. And mail came. A very generous gift from my mother. And the charger for the extra sprint phone we found. Woohoo! Except then once we plugged in said phone, it did not work. Boohoo. So that leads me to spending hours at the Sprint store, on the phone with Sprint customer service, and I still don't have a phone. But I'm getting one. No hate to Sprint. They are fine. It is just a process.

And then I tried to thread my sewing machine and almost poked out my eyes out of frustration.

Now I'm ready for bed.