I had a post written. It was about how the insulation company is bound and determined to drive me into the asylum. Seriously, not showing up on three different occasions, finally showing up, leaving holes in my ceiling and then not returning phone calls. And these were the highly recommended clowns, heaven only knows who we turned down. However X-Man deleted it. I couldn't be to frustrated with him however, it was on my phone. He grabbed my phone and turned on Netflix, and lost what I had been working on. However, as he was watching Netflix while sitting on the potty, all on his own, I couldn't be all that upset.

Heading home from soccer today, we stopped at Goodwill. Baba decided that she wanted to get her Halloween costume. She decided that she wanted to be a Pop Star. Which is code for "I want cute clothes and mom won't buy them for me so let's make it a Halloween costume." I still speak ten year old fairly well.

We found an absurd skirt and shirt combo, sequins galore and considered our mission complete. There were two shopping carts in our entourage, one holding X-Man, one holding Gestated Cinco. The fact I made it with Baby only running into me twice, is actually rather impressive.

At the checkout, a grandmother aged woman started gushing over Baba's outfit. Now, you might think that would make her think twice about her choice, but not much. I couldn't hear much of the conversation, as I was two carts back. And Mac was staring at me saying "Mom, look there's candy. Mom look there's candy. Mom look there's candy." There was indeed candy.

As the grandma lady with the odd haircut was raving to Baba, she made eye contact with me. She proceeded to inform me how intelligent my purchase was, as the incredible glittery skirt and shirt could be worn separately. I agreed. As we continued to converse, me saying that the combo together was really too much, but was acceptable as Halloween wear, a slight frown crossed her face. It was clear she was starting to count the number of heads between herself and me.

"One, two, three, four, five? Wow, did you do this all by yourself?"

Now that is a new question. I'm not quite sure what she was getting at, although I have been asked more than once if our family is a blended one, because clearly red heads and brunettes cannot come from the same parents.

"Well, my husband did help."

Now grandma lady wasn't particularly  quiet and I was using my inside voice. You know, the voice you use when in public that conveys the necessity of proper behavior. Firm and in control. Or that's what I assume I sound like. Of course it is. So it could have been the attempts of a harried mother trying to sound calm and collected, and failing, or it could have been my sarcasm. Either way, there was a group of shoppers suddenly laughing. And here I thought I was just telling it like it happened.

Grandma lady continued as we walked out of the store. "They're all so beautiful, I can't pick a favorite! Although I do love (X-Man's) hair, looks at this!" I agreed that picking a favorite was impossible. "But watch out for this one" pointing to Baba "With that hair and those teeny hips!" I didn't mention that those teeny hips were on a ten year old. Quite proportional from what I can tell.

And so we went on our way. Her with her enthusiasm about everything. Me with my beautiful children. With tiny hips. That they don't get from me.