The Perils of Being Freakishly Strong

I’m either freakishly strong or very unlucky.  After returning home recently from errands, I reached for the rear car door handle to get C out of his carseat.  I pulled in the typical fashion, with what I thought was normal, appropriate force.  Instead of the door opening, however, the handle snapped off and skidded across the sidewalk.  I lurched backward in shock, yelling “Holy ****!”  I looked in at C, who looked back at me with eyebrows raised.  He clearly was thinking the same thing that I vocalized for the both of us.  I then looked in front of me at a student who witnessed the entire event.  I couldn’t help but laugh.  While I was thinking about how great of a story he would have for his friends later, I also made myself look even crazier in the process.  I can just hear it now, “You know that lady with the kid?  Well…”

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Ugh.

I think I’m in for a bad day.

C woke up at 10:30, 1, 3, 3:30, 4, 4:15, 4:30…  At 5:20, he decided that he was awake for the day.  At 5:30, he had a huge blowout and got poop everywhere.

Oy.