So Happy Mother’s Day and all that jazz. Day late and a buck short I think the saying is. I’m not really all about the gifts for Mother’s Day, all I want is a little recognition for carrying, birthing and nursing our son. Mike, is by far the least romantic person, but I knew that going in. He’s lovable and wonderful is so many other ways, besides I got what I really wanted. A day of the three of us doing stuff together! Wanna know what we did for Mother’s Day? Sure you do.

One reason I love shopping at WalMrt so much? They never have what we’re looking for, and when they do it’s either the wrong size, doesn’t match or some douche tried it on and got it all funky with deodourant or something. Hopefully deodourant.

A Saturday morning trip resulted in a weekend long escapade trying to find The Perfect Pair of Sandals for Capitan Pooypants (Carter). Poor kid’s been sweating his little piggers off in runners that are a size too small for the past week, so it seemed only fitting to diminish the magnitude of torture sooner then later - you know, since we hope to have him pick us a nice retirement home in the future; maybe change a few shitty diapers. Frankly, I say he owes me that much.

ANY-way. The Perfect Sandals were found at the local WalMrt on Saturday morning. Carter loved them (”shoooooooe”) and daddy picked them out, so they were a winner all.the.way.
Show sizes match? Check. Home we go.
Carter wanted his new shoes on to play in the backyard. Fine. Put the shoes on. Only to notice that they are the same damn foot. Two right shoes. Fuck! Back to the store first thing Sunday morning.

Do you think we could find the same pair of sandals again? Nope. They’re there, but not the same size. There’s no left of these shoes in a 7 anywhere. Jay-seus.
I was ready to just pick another pair and go home. But No. Can’t do that.

Me: Ok, grab the Diego sandals, let’s go.
Carter: Go-Go (read: Diego)!! *arms outstretched* GOOOO-GOOOO!
Mike: No, I’m sick of settling. We’re getting these damn sandals.
Me: Sick of settling? It’s fuckin’ WalMrt, can’t settle more then that Mike.
Mike: Fuck off, we’re getting these sandals.

Thinking this was going to be a short in and out trip I agreed to just go. No shower, just head out the door. I think I even had dried crusty drool on my chin. Think he cared? Nah. Off to the next not-so-local WalMrt.

Would they have them in stock? Nope! Would they have anyone remotely interested in seeing if they have anything in the back? Ha! It’s bloody WalMrt; they wouldn’t check the back if he’d a offered a million dollars to do it.
By this point Mike’s now on a mission for The Perfect Sandal. He will not give up until he has this tiny coveted pair of sandals in his hand; fuck, you’d almost think they were made of gold. Our adventure to find the Holy Grail a pair of The Perfect Sandals hit a small snag; Carter was miserable since snack time had come and gone and I wanted another coffee. Mike was easily convinced to stop and get my coffee so I could logically (read: coherently) think up our next plan of attack on our quest for The Perfect Sandal at the really-not-local WalMrt. *roll eyes*

Lunch time soon approaching, I haven’t dressed, Carter doesn’t have a diaper bag, I possibly have crusty drool on my face along with ratty messed up unwashed hair and Mike is driving us 20 minutes away to the really-not-local WalMrt. Just to prove a point. He’s sick of settling. Fuck! I get it already!

So the really-not-local store had the shoes. The quest for The Perfect Sandal was completed in a mere 3 hours, 3 stores, 2 coffees, 1 blueberry muffin, 4 McDonny’s cheeseburgers, 2 small fries, 1 diaper change, 2 fights and 2 tantrums.

Successful day in my books.