Have You Ever Seen a Frizzy-Haired Mom in Tears?

Friday was hot. But hey, I thought to myself. I can handle it. I’m a New Englander. 

While Patrick sorted through paperwork, answered phone calls and completed the various duties of an insurance agent within the cool confines of the office, I was on kid duty.

Too hot to spend more than a few minutes outside, I did all that I could to occupy my busy toddler. We raced cars, built towers, and finger painted. All of these messes were reasonably contained, and the house returned to order before the next activity began. Lunch was healthy, and consumed on time. Dishes and a small child were washed. Temper tantrums, depsite the heat, were limited. I can do this. I am a mom. 

I did the laundry, changed the sheets, packed the bags for the weekend, packed the food, and the diaper bag while entertaining a very actually active toddler.  I kept said tot awake well past his nap time, so that we could have an easier drive up to New Hampshire. Ten more minutes. We can do this. 

We filled the car with gas and picked up my husband at the office, smoothly accelerating up the highway for what promised to be a great weekend.

“Jasper, where are your shoes?” Patrick exlaimed, with a glance to the back seat at the dirty toes dangling in the car seat.

“What?!”

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