Because I’m trying to bless my husband by NOT COMPLAINING (it’s tough, I admit) and by stoically taking care of the kids after work without throwing any temper tantrums (mine . . . theirs are assumed), I decided to take Monkey Girl over to the bookstore so I could check out a potential purchase of crack books.
There was a homeless man having a coffee at the Starbucks and he asked me for change but God-strike-me-down I said no. Homeless and drinking Starbucks coffee don’t mix. Ouch, that was really judgmental of me.
Back to safe territory where I’m NOT a jerk. Monkey Girl was well-behaved, but it was tenuous. She didn’t want to share the Thomas toys that were set up for communal use, she wanted to open every book that had Dora on it. I decided not to buy the book I’d come for, but I did pick up a book on tape for my work outs. As we were leaving, I picked her up and put her on my hip, latte in hand. As we excited, she launched herself forward and I ended up carrying her several steps to my car while holding her by the waist, upside down.
As I got to the car and put down my drink. I flipped her back up.
Two young women passed me, pausing just long enough to say “OH! She’s LAUGHING… we thought it was borderline child abuse.” Yes, right, I’m dragging my daughter out of the bookstore, upside down, as punishment. Sheesh.
