On Tuesday of this last week, I treated myself to a babysitter for 3 hours.
I've decided that my chronic insanity is due to little time off from one full time job (Axel) and not enough time to devote to my second full time job (fashion). Finding a babysitter was one battle, admitting that I needed her help was another completely.
Setting aside all power issues and giving away control to this girl just about collapsed me, but I was willing to give it a try. It's only three hours right?
I started the morning off by running to the grocery store. I found my stride as I entered the bakery and was actually able to relax and remember what was on my list (conveniently sitting at home on the counter...as usual). As I was waiting for Axels "peppered turkey breast"...he only likes the spicy ones...the $8.99 per pound ones...I spotted a sample station with some delicious butter spritz cookies. What I love about Cub is that you can sample a whole cookie...they don't waste time cutting them.
After a harmless sample, my hand grabbed one off the shelf and it magically migrated to my cart. I just let it happen in honor of giving myself a break.
Finishing up at the store, I peacefully loaded the car and drove the 4 blocks back home. I unloaded in virtual silence and could hear Axel sweetly playing upstairs.
It was time to sew. I grabbed the box of "butter spritz" in case I needed a nibble and sat down at the machine. Rockin' out to a Cities 97 sampler cd from the 90's, I stitched, I drew sketches, and not once did I need to rip out due to a distracted mind.
However much my mind seemed focused on my sewing, apparently, my stomach was focusing on the cookies.
When my 3 hours was up and I trudged upstairs to reality, I wondered how many cookies I had actually eaten. Five, seven...ten at the absolute WORST! The containers are always half empty when you get them.
After lunching Axel and putting him down for a nap, feeling like I deserve just one more treat, I will leave the rest for Jahred, I quietly opened the noisy packaging but noticed the sticker stating "40 count". They count the damn cookies? I thought food packaging was a weight measurement. This was clearly a guilt mechanism placed by executive men shaming their snacking wives...who did they think they were?
Of course by simple math if I were to count the remaining cookies, that would tell me how many I had eaten. One by one I methodically tallied the remaining cookies and to my horror, there were only thirteen!
Twenty-seven cookies. Well, actually twenty-eight I reminded myself, I did sample one in the store.
Admitting that the babysitter thing went just fine, I thought I could try it again some day, although next time she would only cost me money and not a pants size.
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