I’ve been feeling like crap on toast since Saturday. I’ve gotten a post-Thanksgiving head cold and have been taking a Claritin/Alka-Seltzer Cold cocktail to fight the germs. My mom made me a hot toddy last night, and my train of thought has been boarding at the station ever since. Consider this post Exhibit A.

— What is is it about public toilets? Mo is obsessed with public toilets, or as she simply calls them, “publics“. Like any mother worth her Calgon moments, I make sure everyone has hit the bathroom before we leave the house. When we get to our destination for the day, I ask if anyone has to go to the bathroom. I carry a portable potty in the trunk for this very reason. And still, I find myself in the middle of Wal-Mart with a cart full of food and a 4 year old singing, “Pee pee is coming! Pee is coming!” When we do get to the bathroom, Mo dutifully lines the seat, either with the toilet seat cover or one she fashions out of toilet paper. Once perched upon the seat, she asks me, “Is this a publics?” Um, are we at home? Yes, yes, it’s a public toilet! This past week-end, DH and I took the girls out furniture shopping (a.k.a Dante’s seventh circle of hell). Not five minutes into the trip, Mo announces she has to use the toilet. DH decides to take her, saint that he is, but quickly returns to where Co and I are perusing merchandise and says, “You gotta take her. Someone’s dropping a deuce in the men’s room and it stinks.” Mo looks at me and says, “I went into that publics and I was like, ‘Ewwwww,'”. *sigh*

—- Speaking of public toilets, why is it that no matter how many stalls are in a public bathroom, I always, always, ALWAYS get the one with the warm toilet seat?! *barf*

— If you were to look in the front seat of my car, you’d think that I was living out of my Murano. I can’t take on any passengers because the seat and the floor are full of shopping bags. Now, let me clarify. These aren’t bags full of clothes and shoes from the mall (well, maybe one or two), but it’s stuff that I take with me when I leave the house for the day.

Honestly, it looks as though we’re moving out every morning. Since we’re up and out shortly after 8am every day, I try to be as prepared as possible and pack things that we’ll need until we come home in the late afternoon. I look like Matthew Henson leaving for the North Pole. I’ve got Mo, Co and their school bags. I’ve got my gymbag with a change of clothes and my essential personal care products. I’ve got my purse with my planner, my wallet, a piece of fruit and a bottle of water in it. I’ve got my computer bag holding the computer, the power cord and several magazines. I’ve got our lunch bag with juice boxes, snacks and sandwiches in it. I’ve got my bag of items that need to be returned or exchanged to their respective stores. I’ve got a bag of clothes to drop off at Goodwill. I’ve got a Trader Joe’s bag full of library books that need to be returned. I’ve got another Trader Joe’s bag full of leftover’s from my fridge that I’ll give my parents because my mom doesn’t cook and my dad hates to miss a meal.

I need a Sherpa and a llama.

— Daylight savings means it gets darker earlier, right? It’s barely 3:30 and I just saw the postman walking down the street wearing a miner’s helmet with a canary perched on her shoulder.

Ugh, I’m so congested, I sound like Darth Vader.