And then? There are those moments where I reeeeeaaaally could use a man.
Take for example the sweet and serene scene of a Mom gently tucking her little boy into bed. She lovingly pulls back the sheets, gathers all of his favorite stuffed creatures, plumps the pillows in just the right... HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT ON HIS PILLOW?
I'm pretty sure it looked more like this, actually:
What's a Mom to do...but scream? Duh. Then, ask children to hurrythefuckup and run and get a shoe. I figure I'm best suited to keep an eye on the thing (although I really couldn't have missed the dragon-sized-beast feverishly crawling on my son's pillow) while the youngins' run and fetch me a weapon.
"Hurry please. Go get me a shoe."
"In my closet. Hurry. Quick. Shoe."
"Hellooooo? Just get a shoe. Any shoe. Quickly."
"Tatum," (I think Chase spotted some legos or something far more interesting along the way) "Where are you?"
"Mommy, I'm tryyyyyying."
"Tatum, I can't take my eye off this thing. Just.Grab.A.Shoe.Right.Now."
About 40twentyhundred16 minutes later, she shows up with a lovely red ballet flat. One which I know damn well was not the most conveniently located shoe in the closet. In fact, it would have taken some perusing, reaching, tippy-toes, major yoga moves to find that shoe.
It's a shoe she has had a penchant for borrowing once before.
Apparently, a it's an innate sense that a girl must always choose exactly the right shoe for every event.