Tucker has a black eye from a mishap with a grocery cart in the Costco parking lot.
(I wish I could say it was more his fault than mine, but since I was steering the cart, I was definitely part of the problem. Me, and the speed bump that sent his face hurtling into the side of the cart. Anyway, now he has a black eye.)
Tyler took his bib off over his head, in a fit of independence. As a result, he has a relatively permanent case of bedhead with several degrees of crustiness until his next bath.
I woke up him from his nap yesterday, and he did not wish to be woken up. So he was angry, hurt, crushed, broken hearted, and disappointed by all that is his life. Cry, cry, cry.
So he didn't want me to put on his shoes and socks. For the rest of the day. No, thank you. Barefoot it is.
I've given you all of those tidbits to say this: with all of those factors in play, I needed to run to the grocery store yesterday. Just a quick run - literally, just for a loaf of bread. But suddenly, we could not keep these secrets to ourselves.
There I was, with my older son who has a black eye, and my younger son with crusty hair, barefeet in January, and a scowl. We were, um, not our best.
I've given a second glance to such families at the grocery store before, wondering how they escaped their homes without more careful planning.
Now, I see how that happens.