In two days' time last week, we got three self-induced parenting strikes. Fortunately, no one has showed up on our doorstep to declare us out of the game.
Jason, Barb, and Zoralee dropped me off at the salon to get a trim, and then they headed to the coffee shop. Once there, Jason hopped out of the pickup and started walking inside, only to turn around and see his mother still standing by the pickup looking confused. "What's the matter, Ma?" he asked. "Well, aren't we taking the baby inside?" she said. Oh yeah. The baby.
Last Sunday was such a busy day with church, Heather's birthday lunch, and going to see the completed music studio that Luke has been working on for months (which I'm so proud of him for - he used lots of salvaged materials and free labor from friends in exchange for studio time)...
...that I somehow forgot to change Zoralee's diaper for like EIGHT HOURS. I had a good cry over that one.
Strike Three (the least traumatic):
That same Sunday morning, I had rifled through all her clothes trying to find some type of pants or leggings to go with her purple dress. I don't take matching too seriously, but this dress was given to her by one of our fellow church-goers, so I didn't just want to throw on green striped pants. I couldn't find anything, so eventually we took her with bare legs and an extra blanket. That evening when I finally did change her diaper, I discovered the third strike:
I had laundered the purple dress, put it on Zoralee, and given her a previous diaper changing that day without seeing the panties attached to the inside. What's worse, the dress buttons up the back, so when I initally dressed her, the thing must've been splayed fully open.