1. I did at least 3 tons of laundry. I can now fold faster than a Gap employee.
2. I bought all my groceries. I can now be sure to avoid that guilt-inspiring $10 lunch during the work week.
3. I had 3 beers alone at home. So much better than drinking with friends. I wear what I want, pee when I want and nobody cares if I get a little sloppy.
4. I ended up at a fancy restaurant where my daughter demanded to sit on my lap and wiggle the entire time. I can now add competitive eating to me resume. I Kobayashi’d that meal.
5. Another meal in public was ruined by my daughter throwing massive temper tantrums. That means I got to eat leftovers in the privacy of my own home. Who wants to eat ribs in front of other people anyway? So, they tasted like crap. That just means I got eat Apple Jacks at 9pm instead. When’s the last time you did that?
6. I promised my daughter a bike ride after taking her to the after hours pediatric clinic, but we were running out of time before dark. It was a bike ride to Walgreens to pick up her prescription in jeans. Exercise!
7. Being at the clinic means I don’t have to miss work during the week in order to take her to the Doctor. Booyah!
8. I got to skip watching the Super Bowl and watch a movie with two graphic rape scenes that made me nauseous.
9. I downloaded 5 new apps to my daughter’s Leap Pad. No Barbie Shorts on Netflix for me. For at least A WEEK.
10. I look forward to working on a Monday. How many of you can say that? Really?
My husband and I played a game to entertain ourselves in public places long before we had children. You look for drunk toddlers.
Try it out the next time you’re stuck at the airport. Within minutes you’ll spot some 2-year-old so wasted he’s drooling. Then you’ll see a 1-year-old stumbling around and still sucking down the drink. They cry, scream and make complete asses of themselves.
It’s a great game.
I’ll use my son as an example. Look at this lush, trying to sit on a tiny chair and chugging! Clearly, he’s blitzed. Next thing you know, he’ll be passed out, pissing himself.
I call this my pile ‘o kid crap I don’t wanna step on when one or both kids cry needlessly overnight. Anyone who’s set off anything musical while investigating a whimper has to feel me. 
Living The American Scream 