Maharani Barbara…


So, I’ve been online shopping the past two weeks since moving to the city.

My husband made me. I threw a temper tantrum, sulked, and may have mumbled something about trying one more new thing, but he made me bring him my computer. And-

-I love it!

In San Francisco there is this amazing thing called Google shopping express. And between that and my Safeway delivery I did not have to leave the apartment this morning. That means, everyone made their naps, breakfast (almost) got cleaned up, we did school, and now the afternoon is ours.

And if there were any questions in the delivery guy’s mind as to why I possibly needed to have my purchases laid at my doorstep as if I was the maharani of an exotic principality they were all answered when I opened the door-

-still in my pajamas-

-with a baby crying-

-my breath smelling like our tuna sandwich and chipotle hummus lunch-

-hand full of half masticated cheese and cheerios I’d just picked from the carpet-

-my son throwing his sister to the ground and knocking her head against the closet door with resultant screams-


Oh, you don’t want to finish explaining to me how the invoice works?


Did I mention there’s a full on raging thunder storm outside today?

Yeah. That’s why.

My husband was right. He usually is. You heard it here first, folks, and now it’s in print.

3 responses »

  1. Oh, you brave soul. Admitting it in print… Well I suppose many good things come when we wave the white flag. So fly it proudly, sister. And on toward the good in the day. Tuna breath and all. Next time the delivery guy comes, he’ll be in a hazmat suit.


    • He was seriously trying to explain the invoice to me when Lucy started screaming and when I turned back around he was down the hall closing the door behind him. Yup.


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