How is that I cannot for the life of me remember where I parked my car? The other day I came out of the mall and carried the four-year-old all over, looking for what’s been deemed my ‘donkey car’ because of its lovely brown shade of paint.
Up and down the aisle, I carried my 36-pound baby princess, covered in an additional pound of glitter from our outing to ‘the princess store’. The so-called cold front moved in, and she was complaining about her lack of a jacket and trying to snuggle into me, making carrying her exceedingly difficult.
She wasn’t amused when I hoisted her up and asked her to find ‘the donkey’. But there it was, hidden behind a large truck.
Good job, baby girl. You’re better at finding my car than I am.