It was time to head out the door. If we left NOW I'd be at work on time. And we were doing well - showers done, keys in hand, all missing items accounted for.
Then came the all-to-familiar sound of a pill sorter hitting the floor.
You have two choices in this situation: Waste time losing your temper and yelling about clumsy wastefulness, or pitch in with a smile and help clean it up. I opted for the latter. And since we were about it, I got out the pill bottles so we could sort out not only the sorter, but whether anything needed to be ordered.
Twenty minutes later, all pills accounted for, pill sorter neatly filled, list made for the pharmacy.
"Okay, Babygirl, take your pills so we can get out of here!"
"Oh, I took my pills before I dropped the sorter."
Silly me. I imagined she dropped the sorter as she was getting it out, not as she was putting it away.
Once again there are two choices: Kill her and call your friends to help you hide the body (any mom with a teenaged girl would be there in a heartbeat), or spend the day mocking your teen as you tell this story to all your friends who have ever had a teen girl. I once again opted for the latter.