I (heart) the return line

I've noticed a pattern of behavior lately, particularly in my clothes shopping habbits.

You see, now that I have a full blown toddler (with opinions of her own and a loud mouth with which she can voice them) shopping for clothes has become....difficult.

Let's say I'm roaming the aisles of Target when lo-and-behold I fiind the perfect shirt. I love the shirt. I want the shirt. I need the shirt. Just for the record, the shirt is more than likely black (as that's basically all I wear!). :)

Well, at this point I have two choices:

1. Pick out two different sizes of the magical black shirt and go try them on the nearest dressing room so I can make an educated choice on weather or not the shirt needs to grace my wardrobe.

2. Hold the shirt up to my body (which, of course, is already cloaked in a bulky sweatshirt and a puffy coat) and (quickly) decide which one to throw in the cart before Little Miss Mary grows impatient with my decision making process.

Normally, I choose number 2. You see, I seriously fear getting her out of the cart to head into the dressing rooms. I just KNOW that the minute I take my clothes off, she'll escape under the door and go running into home electronics. I have this total mental image of me flailing through Target, wearing only my unmentionables, searching frantically for my giggling daughter.

And so it goes that I spend a great deal of my days in the return aisle...taking back this shirt or these jearns that were too big or too small.

All because my daughter CLEARLY wears the pants in this relationship.

Not just for grown-ups...anymore.

It's 7:oo AM

Mary is sitting in her high chair, being crabby. Sassy. Ugh.

I ask her, "Mary...what do you want? How can I help you???"

She looks at me, then bellers "I want some!!!"

"Some what?"

"PIZZA!"

How could I not laugh? Evidently cold pizza is the breakfast for champions in the kids market too! :)

And so my day begins....