Can I get a do over please?

The Boy woke up last week with a red, enlarged ear. By the end of the day, it was HUGE and he kept flipping it and saying it itched.

I pulled his bed out from the wall and what did I see? A spider. *shiver* I HATE spiders. So the thought of a spider ON my first born child and biting him was horrifying. I quickly killed the spider, vacuumed, dusted, and sprayed spider killer around the outside of the house, especially by his room.

Then I took him to the doctor because his ear was so big! I wish now I had waited a day because after a 30 minute, kid-fussing drive to the doctor, an $80 office visit, a rubber glove full of ice, and a recommendation to use Benadryl, we were on our way home.

Here's my little man later that day. Pathetic, no?

Moving on.

Yesterday we went to Target. We didn't have a real reason, just wanted to get out of the house and see if I could snag any more bargains. (I didn't, but I have my eye on a garden bag that I am hoping will be clearanced soon. Then that baby is mine.)

When we got to the checkout, the Girl was in the cart and the Boy was ahead of me, super excited about his new fake snakes. I was putting our things on the register belt while an older man (about 60ish?) was paying. I heard the cashier say, "You must be excited about your new snakes." I didn't pay much attention until I look over and see the Boy's snakes in the other customer's bag. He had just swiped his credit card. Before I even figured out what was going on, he had inadvertantly paid for the snakes!

I was stuttering and all, "Ma'am. Those are our snakes. Not his." To the very annoyed man, "Sir, I am so sorry. I didn't see him give those to the cashier."

So then I had to wait with my fussy girl and my uber-embarrassed son who was now on the floor, hanging his head while the cashier went through what can only be described as a LONG, 5 step process to issue this poor man a cash refund for paying for our snakes with his credit card.

A.w.k.w.a.r.d.

After this fiasco, I needed Starbucks. So I went over and ordered my grande, non-fat, raspberry mocha, no whip. This was my saving grace. My little special treat. I was handed some white chocolate concoction.
"What is this?!"
"Uh, didn't you say white chocolate?"
I had never uttered the word white nor chocolate. So now I have a blicky drink, a 2 year old singing, "Mocha, mocha, mocha, mocha" over and over, a 4 year old pouting in a rather dramatic fashion, and a 30 minute drive home with broken car DVD players.

Good times.