It’s a dream come true. I’m currently sitting at Starbucks, sipping a tall, soy, one Splenda Latte writing on my beautiful “Endurance” sticker-bedecked laptop, Kara (as named by Matthew). Ahh, bliss. It’s Friday night, and I’m on a date. I’m on a hot date with me, my caffeine addiction and my laptop. I need a date – it’s high time I spent some time checking in with me and seeing how I’m doing. Sadly, the answer? Not so well.

I don’t quite know for sure what’s gone on, but the last few days have been Rough. Yes, that’s Rough with a capital “R.” I have no real excuse for why things have been so bad either – and that freaks me out. The fact that I’m feeling emotional and a bit out of control – freaked out, really – that freaks me out. It’s bringing back too many bad memories of my early post-partum depression days. I’m still going strong on Zoloft, I only have two or three therapy sessions left (that’s probably freaking me out too). But all in all, I’ve actually been doing really well, and then WAZAMMY! Emotional waterworks. Pity Party – you’re all invited; actually, no – you’re not. Stay away. The dulldrums. The blues. The blahs. The bijiggities. So, I don’t know what’s brought it on but it’s on, and a date with Kara and Coffee is just what the doctor (well, Mike) ordered.

We made a pilgrimage out to the Mecca that is Trader Joe’s. Do you know Trader Joe’s? It’s totally trendy and cute and small and about fifteen minutes from our house. TJ’s is a small grocery chain offering ridiculously good-priced fancy gourmet and organic foods. The boys and I made the expedition a couple of days ago – pre-Pity Party. All was going well – I’d stocked up on good deal goodies and was in the check-out line. No grocery cart seatbelt is strong enough to keep Monkey Man Zachary safely seated in the little kid-seat, so I was holding him on my hip while preparing to pay for my groceries. (He’ll wiggly right out of the strap and stand on the top of the grocery cart, yelling like a Howler Monkey. Yes, we’re one of THOSE families at the grocery store). Matthew was standing near me while I chatted up the cashier. About two seconds later, I hear a scream and a cry. Crud. A scream and a cry that I recognize. I whip around and see that Matthew is by the big sliding door (to exit to the parking lot) and that his hand is stuck – completely wedged between the two doors – the stationary one and the big one that slides over as you approach the door. Matthew’s hand is in a door sandwich.

The cashier and I went flying over to Matthew. I put Zach on the ground and totally pull a SuperMom – with inhuman strength I pry the two doors apart while Cashier Man helps to free Matthew’s trapped hand. Meanwhile, Zachary has crawled all the way across the front of the store and is preparing to exit out the other big sliding door. I ditch my sobbing toddler to go grab Monkey Man ZJ before he gets various body parts wedged. Returning to comfort Matthew, I inspect the injury. His hand was a bit torn up and red but there didn’t seem to be any extensive damage. Cashier Man came charging towards us with a bag of frozen corn and patriotic themed stickers (those didn’t go over so well). I was still trying to restrain Zach while comforting Matthew and obviously failing miserably when an older gal – a sweet Grandma-type – came and asked if she could hold Zach for me. I handed him over appreciatively so that I could calm Matthew down. Trader Joe’s is fairly small and the whole check-out area had come to a bit of a stand-still with our dramatic display. I reassured everyone that there was no need for amputation; we’d all be OK. Then it hit me. What the H-E-double-hockey-sticks had Matthew been doing over by the door in the first place?!

“Matthew! What did you think you were doing walking away from Mommy like that? Why were you going to the door?” I scolded.

He started to cry harder and shakily responded, “I was done shopping. I wanted to go to the car and go home.”

I started to lay into him when I realized that it was perhaps not the time to scold my child – I didn’t need an audience. The Mommy Speech could wait for once we were in the car. At least it was hopefully a good lesson – you don’t wander away from Mommy in public places because the big scary, Monster Door could possibly try to eat your hand. And had Matthew gone out the door, he would’ve had to deal with a worse fate – a big scary, FREAKED OUT Mommy Monster. For both of our sakes, I’m thankful that the door tried to eat his hand.