Mama's come a long way, baby

I forgot to buy milk at Target.

I know what you're thinking: I suck more than Octomom. Hold up. Before y'all go judgemental on my ass and call for a beheading in town square, then give my kids away to a shitty Angelina Jolie look-alike, please hear me out.

Circo shirts and shorts were $4 each.

That's right. F the milk. $128 later, I left the store, minus the Vitamin D. Talk about being distracted.

The Circo-buzz wore off this morning. I had to face two kids who were wondering too loudly how they could eat cereal with two drops of milk. I considered stretching the milk with water. We're in a recession, not the Great Depression, Mike said. Plus, it was skim. Any more water and it would be, um, water. Plan B. Pancakes, anyone?

This whole episode made me realize how far I'd come as a mother. Yes, I had progressed! Gone were the days of racing to the store in horrible pajamas and UGGs at midnight for milk. (The UGGs compensated for the queer pjs.) I no longer worried that the kids would fall down and break in half unless they had calcium three times a day. Brittle bones? Bah!

Mama's come a long way, baby. Break out the Virginia Slims!

I think the milk madness started a long time ago. Back in the formula days. When Madan was an infant, I was an idiot. I'd stash beaucoup bottles of Similac in a dorm fridge upstairs. Then, for each feeding, I'd warm the bottle up in a cup of hot tap water. WTF? I cut out the middleman with Kaila and let the poor girl drink tap-water-infused Similac. Oh, the horror! But, suddenly, I was smarter than a fifth grader. Or, was it less worried than a 16-year old? Either way, it was a change for the better.

It's now evening in Ohio and we're still sans milk. I've thrown caution to the wind. Let them eat cake and drink Snapple! The Morris family is living on the edge. Maybe we'll even have breakfast for dinner -- provided someone buys the freaking milk.