I want to crawl into a hole and ignore the entire world for a little bit.
After carrying a 67 pound dog from car to vet's office, then being pooped all over by said scaredy-cat dog, after The Babe dumped 12 ounces of strawberry milk all over himself, his carseat, me, and the windshield (he took the top off and threw it at me while en-route to the vet -- the kid has range from the backseat passenger side, I'll tell you that), after crying for 45 seconds on the phone to my mom and then realizing I have to Buck Up, Buckaroo for my darling Hubby, after not being able to get The Babe's attorney ad litem on the phone, after being lectured by the vet tech on the distemper vaccine the dogs are overdue for, after an hourlong wait at the post office to pick up a stupid copy of a form we picked up our stupid selves three weeks ago, after putting together, wrapping, and shipping 15 special orders, I've decided that, yes, moms can make themselves a vodka and frangelico with a twist of lemon at four o' clock on a Monday.
Then I'll see about getting the strawberry milk off and out of my iPod. And the steering wheel. Maybe I'll even go so far as a shower to really wash the dog poo off my arm -- I can't see it, but I think I got a whif.