Hold this!

We had just done the Tour de Target (pronounced Tar-shay, like it's French) and Zoe had spent the last two hours practicing the role of "13 year old with a serious attitude" she must be auditioning for soon. I was unloading the back of the mini-van and each time I passed Zoe's side she would ask to be unbuckled.

I guess "ask" isn't really the term I should use. What word fully describes "get-me-out-now-or-I'll-continue-to-screech-at-such-a-high-octave-and-decibel-you-will-not-only-want-to-cry-but-will-have-to-break-down-in-total-hysteria-with-threats-on-my-life-to-stop-me"?

So, Zoe asked about a hundred times to get out of her seat and I had to wonder why. She knew she was destined for a nap - something she loves to hate - and she was currently half-way through a new Diego episode about a wild antelope in her recliner-inspired car seat that costs more than my entire line of Coach purses.

"Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom. Hold this!" She thrust her tiny little hand out of the car and into my face.

"What is it?" as she wiped it on my cheek. NOT GOOD. I repeat, NOT GOOD.

"Snot!"

Well, she got her wish. That five-point harness (that would keep her torso from moving even if I could hit "EJECT" and thrust her through the moon roof on days like today) came off so quickly I wondered if it was actually all locked up. Her little body was tossed into the back foyer so hard she was a bit thrown off and when I told her to SCOOT, NOW! she did it.

I slapped her self on the toilet, demanded some pee action, and was surprised by how quickly she made water and hopped off. No argument commenced about the merits of washing our hands vs. not, she just started lathering up. She hopped into bed, I kissed her, and closed the door.

I. NEED. A. BREAK.

With one hand my bra was off as I fell onto my bed. Closing my eyes I knew I could take a three hour nap and wake up with drool so heavy my face would chap. Done. Just as I nodded off I remembered something. Something important.

Oh, shit. The groceries!

As I walked by the car again I noticed something moving. XANDER!

Xander's little foot was moving as he chased something in his dream. That poor second child - he was left for twenty minutes in the car to fend for himself. Looks like the new Cheeto bag was within his reach, based on the orange fingers, mouth, and toes(?).

So, what is a mom to do? I propped open the door to the house, put the garage door down, and reclined my driver's seat to take a twenty minute power nap so powerful my drool would make my face chap!