“They really need to cut that hedge,” I complained as I tried to bolt across the small side street that runs just in front of our Barnes and Nobles.  “Oh my gosh, the parking here,” as I turn the corner.  “Of Course, any spots close to the entrance are taken,” I offer to drop off my grandmother, who is now 89 this month, at the front door before taking the girls and seeking out our own handi-capable slot elsewhere.  “It’s always this bad,” I moan.

My teeth grind, holding my tongue as the girls are in the back with an uproarious chant, “Book store!  Book store!  Book store!”

I wrestle with the girls to drag them out of the car.  I practically toss Baby K over my shoulder and take a firm grip to Li’l A’s wrist just to avoid any casualties in the parking lot.  The stress and tension…