Crying Over Spilt Milk

Last week I had one of those days where I kept blubbering about everything (blubbering is a word my dad would use . . . although, if I actually think about the image of someone "blubbering," I don't really think I was doing that). Anyway, the things I kept crying over were so not cry worthy that when Mike, trying understandingly to help, asked, "Now, what part of this exactly is upsetting you?" I blubbered all the more because I couldn't possibly defend why I was crying when even I saw there was absolutely nothing at all that I was telling him that warranted a cry.

When Mike got home, in his wisdom (or perhaps for want of knowing what else to do with me), he sent me off to Target while he put the kids to bed.

I wandered about -- sniffling a little -- looking at books and kids' clothes, and trying all the samples by the bakery with no shame because, I reasoned, it was only me sampling (and not my entire usual little posse) and because they would be closing soon and would probably have to throw their little donut and brownie pieces out and also because I was sad for absolutely no logical reason.

I found some cool shorts for Abe and called him to describe them to him before buying as he has begun to question my judgement of cool (even though my cool judgement is super great). I made sure to describe the Hawaiian themed shorts more in terms of palm leaves than large flowers, and he was on board. I also bought Goldie a little clearanced panda bear shirt because she loves a good panda. Then I tried to really determine which watermelon was best by studying them all very closely even though I wasn't positive what I was studying them for.

On my way home, I buckled the watermelon I'd purchased safely and snugly into Jesse's car seat. It seemed the natural thing to do what with watermelons propensity for rolling and my habits so accustomed to buckling up car seats anyway.

When I got home, I told Mike he was a nice husband for listening to me cry over things that even I myself could see no reason to cry over. Then I added, "What would I do if things were reversed and you were the one calling me and crying all the time? I'd probably tell you to quit your whining -- that I got enough of that from the kids all day." Then I asked, "So why don't you cry all the time?" He assured me that he did -- that that was what his long commute each day was for. So I laughed. Then I realized that our little dish scrubber was smelling moldy and I'd forgotten to buy a new one and I nearly cried again. Ohh it makes me laugh now. Girls are crazy. Being one is awesome.

P.S. I'm very happy, and often I go so long with out crying that I can hardly remember the last time I did cry (which actually makes me feel hardened because what kind of a girl does that? Were supposed to cry A LOT . . . even though that's CRA-ZY. Hmm. Danged if we do and danged if we don't).