No, public, I did not crap my pants.

Yesterday morning was no good.  That's really the best way I can describe it.  I am not a morning person.  In fact, I dream a world that is absolutely silent until noon.  I long for days when I have teenagers that sleep until 1 p.m. on a Saturday.  And if they don't, I have no reservations regarding cash incentives.  

So, yesterday morning started out with the usual demands and/or somewhat annoying proclamations:

I want waffles.

I don't like cereal.

I want more waffles.

My teacher says I need to eat a bigger breakfast.

I can't find my shoes.

I left Batman outside, I need to find him now.

My diaper is wet.  I can't like underwears.

My dress not twirl big enough.

Today's my field trip, I need a sack lunch.  I HAVE to have a disposable water bottle.

I can't find my glasses.  I think I left them in the yard.  Nope.  Here they are.  

And then it was 6:05 a.m.  It was a morning where I felt like no one was listening to me, the scale tipped up yet another number, and the walls of my house seemed to have moved in another 10 feet as the disarray of half-packed boxes continue to mock me.  

I pictured McDonald's in my mind.  I pictured the drive-through, I pictured me ignoring the annoying lady at the first window who can't help but to scream "Good Morning, Beautiful!", and I pictured myself driving up to the second window retrieving the breakfast burrito that my mind was lusting for.  

But, no.  I told myself "no".  I've been doing an awesome job with juicing in the morning.  I wasn't going to make a choice I knew was only a reaction to my stress, I was going to continue on with the pattern that I was beginning to not only enjoy, but crave.  So I made myself cut my apples, broccoli, kale, grapefruit and I juiced it all up for my morning boost.  I then did my ritual of putting ice in it and setting it aside to cool while I cleaned my juicer and loaded my dishwasher.  The blade-cup in my juicer was a little stuck and so I tried to pry it out.  I then watched as my juicer slipped out of my hands, knocking my 24 oz cup of green juice all over my counter.  All.  Over. Green down my white cabinets.  Green inside the dishwasher.  A thick puddle covering the counter tops and the floor.  What was only 24 oz seemed to have multiplied into a gallon.  

My daughter watched the whole thing.  I'm pretttttty sure I didn't drop any words beginning with the letter "f" or "s", but I was clearly upset.  Aubri asked, "Are you happy, Mom?" and in my low-I-must-be-on-the-verge-of-insanity voice I replied.  "No.  Mommy.  Is.  Sad.".  She could sense the tension in the air and her 3-year old body slinked backwards into the living room to watch one of her cartoons. 

I then went through an entire roll of paper towels wiping down my kitchen.  When it was nearly clean Aubri came back and offered the only consolation she thought was guaranteed and scientifically proven:  "Mommy, do you want a band-aid?".  

Later on in the morning, I was feeling better.  I avoided McDonald's and settled on a baggie full of grapes while I taxied the kids around to their respective stomping grounds.  I was going to have a few hours to myself that day, and I was looking forward to going to Books A Million to get lost in the shelves of facts and adventures that have always offered me comfort.  

I got out of my van and started trodding into the store when I looked down at my leg.  I was wearing capri pants and thick line of dried, dark green juice ran from the bottom of my capris to the top of my shoes.  I began to highly doubt that the average shopper wondered if that was home-made juice that I had spilled and was appearing to literally run out of my pants.  

Sigh.  That was the cherry on top of my morning.  And no, public, I did not crap my pants.  

I scraped what I could off and went into the bookstore anyway.