Enough With The Lemons

It's 10am and I'm sitting in my car in the garage. Both kids are in their car seats - the baby is sleeping and the toddler is watching a movie. 

It's week three of one of our worst reflux flare ups to date - I haven't slept more than two hours at a stretch since it started. Ten minutes after I coaxed the baby down for her first nap, the toddler woke her up again. Twenty more minutes of unsuccessfully trying to get the baby back to sleep and I turned to my last resort sleep weapon - going for a drive. Baby in the car seat, car seat in the car with strategic blanket to block any errant sunshine, toddler in the car in his seat, phone, wallet, run inside to turn off the quinoa in the rice cooker, retrieve the dog from the street after he pushed the door open and ran out, get in the car, notice keys are already in the ignition, and... nothing. 

Call Chris to ask for a jump, the toddler starts crying, run back inside to get the iPad to buy some time, find out that the back door on the car doesn't open if the battery is dead, crawl over the (crying) toddler to dig through the emergency box to find jumper cables, pop the hood, realize that I CANNOT find the exterior latch for the hood. Cry. Use the phone as a flashlight to trace the hood latch to the last place I expect it to be. The baby falls asleep mid-chaos. Try to jumpstart the battery, which proves futile. Send Chris back to work. 

Did I mention that it's only 10am? I've got lemons in spades, my friends. And I'm going to sit in my dead car sipping this new batch of lemonade until the baby wakes up. 

Update: The baby had a sneaky diaper blowout in the car while she was napping. The toddler had a diaper blowout while I was cleaning up the baby.

Update two: Just found a chunk of poop on the carpet, which was followed by a pretty solid ten minutes of semi-hysterical cry-laughing. Welcome to my glamorous life.