Drop It Already

I wanted to be through with reporting on my clumsiness. I really did. Because I know you're all thinking "Yeah, yeah, you drop things, Erin. So drop it." I'll try harder after this. I will.

People always want to know if I've had any cravings during my pregnancy. And until recently, not really. But when the thought of s'mores popped into my head the other day, there was no stopping me. The baby, I'm certain, wanted s'mores. And the baby was going to get s'mores. So after trying to beat the thought out of my head for awhile, Alan and I finally headed to the grocery store at 9:30 one night to get the fixin's. Delish. Hit the spot. The baby was very happy.

The other craving I've had has been for Olive Garden salad. I worked at the Olive Garden for five years, so one would think that I would have ingested enough of their salad to last me a lifetime. But alas, I haven't, so I've taken Alan there a couple of times, as well as my mom and grandma when they visited recently. (During that visit, I rescued a pepper that the server was taking away from me in the salad bowl. You don't steal a pregnant lady's peppers!)

To save Alan and I the hassle of going to the OG for every meal, we bought a bottle of their salad dressing so we could have it on hand. And I bought red onions, roma tomatoes, pepperoncinis, black olives and croutons to make my own OG-style salad at home. So I built my delicious salad and had gobs of leftover black olives. And because Alan loves black olives, I put the remaining ones in a container to put on the table. Do you see where this is going?

On the epic three-foot journey to the table, I managed to trip on my flip-flop and drop the entire container of olives. And they went everywhere. Freakin' everywhere. So there I was, on all fours, picking up tons of olives from under the table and around the kitchen, all the while trying to keep Marti from eating all of the olives. (One success: She didn't get a single one.)

So I hadn't yet regaled Alan of my tale of olive droppage. And I don't think I was really planning on it, as I figured that he, too, was probably tired of hearing of my shenanigans and would like to believe (wrongly) that I'm not a total wreck. But then he went into the bathroom. And came out with a black olive.

"Yeah...so there was a bit of a situation with the black olives..."

I'm pretty sure that I'm about one incident away from earning myself a babysitter.