I dropped five pounds of frozen chicken on my foot this morning.

I wish I was kidding.

The day definitely started rocky, to say the least. Getting my youngest out of bed and ready to go can be a real nightmare some days. She has a way of turning the smallest things into a crisis and making it everyone’s problem. Today, it was tights. She wanted to wear tights because “it’s what old ladies wear and it’s 100 days of school day!” but also THESE tights are droopy and THOSE tights don’t fit and THOSE tights have weird toes.

I dug through her entire sock drawer and her dance drawer to help find the right tights (whatever those are, this time) and could not figure out what she wanted. Cue me telling her I’m going to have her dad help her because she clearly isn’t getting what she wants or needs from me. “Husband, please go help your daughter; she’s in another doom spiral,” is a phrase that gets a lot of use in our home recently. I digress. He was able to figure her life out.

But then he cut the absolute shit out of himself shaving. So that was fun for him, I’m sure. Razor cuts are the WORST and let me tell you: nothing scares me more than my oldest asking to shave because handing her a razor sounds…reckless, at best. (A friend told me about dry electric shavers…that’s gonna be the way to go for a bit.)

Then I dropped a thousand pounds of chicken on my foot, all in the name of making a healthy dinner for my family. You know what doesn’t try to kill you? Frozen pizza.

So going to the gym – something I haven’t been able to do in way too long thanks to the weather – was out in an instant and I’m hobbling around the house, folding laundry and doing dishes.