Stress and unleavened bread

So I had a bad day.  Or I should say, a bit of a stressful morning. It is funny how, when it rains, it pours. I had a relatively non-stressful day planned which is exactly when these things usually happen... Keeps you on your toes.

I woke up fairly content and then I stepped into the chaos that is my life.  Todd trying to get gone on a boys only four-wheeling day trip ("do you know where the camel back is?" "Can you make me a few sandwiches?" "Can you wipe my bum?"  kidding, honey) Then there was my darling toddlers who insisted they must eat out of the new frosted flakes bowls that were dirty and in the dishwasher which was in the middle of washing. I am not a sucker-I did not get the bowls out for them, although that would have been a lot easier than trying to reason with them that they did not have to have the frosted flake bowls to eat their frosted flakes.. Finally, breakfast done and started my workout when a cute neighbor called and asked if I could watch her son, which was fine.  Just made working out very interesting with 3 children to entertain.  Then I got ready and went to Walmart, always a pleasure.  My kids were fairly well-behaved, so it wasn't torture.  I hadn't been shopping for a few weeks so I had a mountain of crap to load up.  I knew I was cutting it close because I had my super mammogram scheduled today and I still had to feed kids lunch and put all my walmart purchases away.  As I pulled into my driveway, I got a sinking feeling in my muffin-top (gut).  The fence to the backyard was open-that is never a good sign.  My dearest husband had forgotten to pull it all the way closed as he left for his testosterone-filled day.  So, as I was bringing groceries in, I sent Luke to the backyard to see if Sophie was still there.  Nope, no Sophie.  Now, the funny thing about Ms. Sophie is that when we take her on walks, it is all she can do to make it 50 feet from the front door, but when she gets out it is like she grows another set of legs and these legs are the legs of a gazelle, because she just disappers.  CRAPPPPP! I don't have time for this!! I do the responsible thing and send Luke out in the front to walk the sidewalk calling to her as I am continuing to put my perishables away.  Sadie decides to take this opportunity to be constipated.  And when I say constipated, I mean severely constipated.  She is in the bathroom yelling, "Mommy, my pooh huwts my bum! It won't tum out and it won't stay in!!" Ouch!" Plus, lots of crying and tears.  CCCCRRRAAAPPPP!! Luke outside, yelling for Sophie; Sadie inside, yelling for me; Sophie who knows where, doing who knows what; My resolve to be happy, slowly dissolving. 

I spring into action and help Sadie (don't ask, i won't tell).  I get Luke inside, we say a prayer for Sophie's safety.  I throw kids and their lunch into the car and we proceed to a neighbor's home who will be watching the children. Apologize because I am late and then run to my car.  I know if I am too late, the boob squishing that is also known as mammogram, will have to be rescheduled.  

I arrive safely at the hospital 2 minutes before my appointment. Despite making it to the appointment, I am all riled up inside out of concern for my stupid pet dog.  I am not even worried about the upcoming boob squishing.  So, my boobs get squished a few minutes later.  Such a blessed procedure.  We can fly to the moon, but we haven't invented something better than a freakin steamroller for boobs.  I am sorry, I know they save lives, but how about we save lives in a little more gentile way. I mean, if men's privates had to be placed in a mammography compress unit, I am quite sure there would be a public outcry and demonstrations in the street until there was some other way to get internal pictures of their privates.  I am sure it would involve general anesthetics and lots of pillows (private part pillows) and Lortab prescriptions.

I rush home after the flattening and praises are raised to heaven as I see my fat pig dog laying in the driveway, just waiting for me to return.  

All is well in Zion again.

Except my boobs look like unleavened bread.  Small, small loaves of unleaved bread.