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Three Is The Magic Number

No, it’s not.  It’s the kids-are-about-to-outnumber-the-adults-in-my-house number. Hi, I’m Macki and I’m 17-weeks pregnant with number three that’s my bump with each of my kiddos hands.  That means I’m freaking out because my husband and I can barely handle two.  (How the hell did my mom raise four?). I grew up in a small town (Ashland, Or) where having a big family was common. But now I live in a big, expensive city (Los Angeles) where everything is just harder. Not NYC-hard, but still, it takes forever to get anything done in L.A.

Exhibit A: last week’s desperate to satisfy a craving trip to Taco Bell. Now, Taco Bell is two miles from my house and what should have been a 15-minute trip took 90. Here’s why: 1) it’s across the 405; 2) it was 6pm and that means rush hour traffic; and 3) my six-year old girl and two-year old boy antagonize one another like they breathe air; constantly. But I had no choice in the matter. My husband is out of town so I had to make this trip solo because I was in the middle of one of those delightful 24-hour stretches of nausea-but-can’t-vomit and for whatever reason at this moment a Taco Bell Burrito Supreme is the only thing that will make me feel human (also known as a craving).

So I need this burrito. Number three needs this burrito. I am going to get this burrito.

I toss the kids in the car with appropriate, violence-averting distractions (iPad and iPhone) and head out. The trip there doesn’t take long so I get my burrito pretty quickly. But for some reason it’s a parking lot on the way home and 15 minutes becomes 30 and now my boy and girl are on episodes number two, SpongeBob and Victorious, respectively. I eat in the car and I think I feel better but it’s 6:45pm and then I realize: crap. The kids haven’t eaten. Ooops. Why didn’t I buy them Taco Bell?  Who the hell knows? I’m pregnant. There’s a Zankou Chicken on the way home so I take secret squirrel side-streets to avoid the parking lot on Pico.  I weave back and forth, make it to Zankou, feed my sweet, happy children, let them run around and burn off some steam for a few minutes then it it’s back in the car for another twenty minutes and we’re home by 7:30. Ninety minutes of my life spent in traffic, ladies.  Because of a craving. And I’m only 17-weeks with number three. Someone tell me I’m not alone.

You can find me over at the Family Kitchen too!

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