A "day".

So, I'm having a "day". You know the ones. Wake up late therefore running late for work. Wake up the baby...the crabby baby. Get in the car...it doesn't start. Nada. No noise, nothing. D-E-A-D. I have an old, fire-engine-red Jeep Cherokee. She's got a few miles on her (189,000, to be exact) but I love the old girl. She's rugged, paid-off (!!) and pretty dependable. Until this morning. I call Garret to come rescue me. As he's trying to jump my car, I'm going in and out, periodically helping and checking on Maddie, who's now back inside, having breakfast. On one of my trips, I must have left the door open enough for Meatball to get through because he ran, as he does if given the slightest opportunity. This was the opportunity. Ugh. We never get the car started and decide to carpool to work and worry about the car later. On the way, we find Meatball, collect and return him home, safely.

The highlight, if I may find one, was my goofy girl. You see, in my selfish need to silence the maddening toys Maddie has, I turn them off and tell her, "Sorry baby, it's broken", while turning up my hands and giving her a bummed-out look. As she's in her car seat and I'm feverishly trying to will the car to start, I hear her mumbling something. I turn around to little upturned hands, a very distressed look and "bwoken Mommy". Karma. It's a you-know-what.