So when I say that going to Walmart on Sunday evening was my treat for dealing with my sick baby and sick husband, you know things were bad. Vomity, poopy bad. They were both getting much better by that point, and it was the first chance I had since Friday to get out and I was stoked.
I'm not even going to be fake about it; I was a crabby jerk. Walking up and down the aisles, I found myself thinking about how much my life sucked when all of the sudden (angels sing) I had a People of Walmart version of an It's a Wonderful Life moment. I saw people with cart fulls of cheese puffs and soda and saw people yelling at their children and cursing grandmas and I said to my self, "You know what, self? Your life is pretty friggin' great. You have a nice husband and a damn cute little boy and you have nothing to complain about so stop being a bitch and find that sloppy joe sauce so you can get home to them and cuddle on them."
Then, the phone rang. It was Mike. Henry puked up again. A bunch. Then, a kid ran away from his dad behind me, and ran face-first in to a cart ahead of us. Deer running in to a car style.
Moral of the story: Do not answer your phone post-epiphany.
*Upward hand motion.