This Is How You Know You've Been Blogging Too Long

This post was originally published in April 2008

Hobby Lobby is my second favorite store in all the land. 

I love everything about this store--the sales are amazing, and oh great day all the crafty gear makes me instantly want to weave potholders the minute I walk into the door.  They are probably running a craft-lovers racket, and I am the Chief Sucker.  My budget has taken a battering over the years, because, "Look!  It's decoupage glue for 50% off!  And what if I need decoupage glue in the next decade?" 

See?  Chief Sucker. 

Yesterday Corrie and I went to Hobby Lobby to buy some gifts.  Now, here is where I should tell you that as much as I love their store, their grocery carts are horrible.  Nearly every one I've ever used has been top-heavy and wobbly.  There was one incident years ago in which my then-one-year-old son ended up hanging upside down by his pants, and I can assure you it was entirely the cart's fault.  My preoccupation with the 50%-off florist ribbon had nothing to do with it.

We walked in, got a deathtrap cart, and Corrie asked if she could stand on the end of it.  I said no, because I am a safety-conscious woman who watches Dateline NBC.  I turned my back for 2.8 seconds to get a sales flyer (because I needed to know what entirely useful craft supplies were 50% off this week).  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of metal and my daughter crashing toward the floor.

In slow motion, I turned to my right to see that Corrie, ever obedient, had not climbed up on the end of the basket, she had climbed onto the side of it.  The whole thing was in the process of falling down on top of her. 

And I, in that instant, wanting to redeem myself for the son-hanging-upside-down-from-his-pants incident, inserted my leg between my falling daughter and the falling cart. 

She is safe.  My leg, however, is not. 

It hurt SO badly that it took every bit of self-control I had not to sit down in the floor of the store and weep.  But I couldn't, because they might think I was one of those crazy lawsuit people, and what if they flagged me as a troublemaker and wouldn't let me buy 50% off scalloped scissors anymore? 

I managed to hold myself together, though I was gritting my teeth and fighting back tears.  I even finished my shopping trip.  (That is courage, y'all.  Courage.)  I came home and nursed my wounds.

But the point of this entire story (believe it or not, there is one) is that a few minutes ago I took a picture of my battered leg so I could blog about it--truly, there are some glorious bruises--when I realized in the nick of time that oh my word, I nearly posted a picture of my thigh on the internet. 

I think I need a new hobby. 

This post was originally published in April 2008

Hobby Lobby is my second favorite store in all the land. 

I love everything about this store--the sales are amazing, and oh great day all the crafty gear makes me instantly want to weave potholders the minute I walk into the door.  They are probably running a craft-lovers racket, and I am the Chief Sucker.  My budget has taken a battering over the years, because, "Look!  It's decoupage glue for 50% off!  And what if I need decoupage glue in the next decade?" 

See?  Chief Sucker. 

Yesterday Corrie and I went to Hobby Lobby to buy some gifts.  Now, here is where I should tell you that as much as I love their store, their grocery carts are horrible.  Nearly every one I've ever used has been top-heavy and wobbly.  There was one incident years ago in which my then-one-year-old son ended up hanging upside down by his pants, and I can assure you it was entirely the cart's fault.  My preoccupation with the 50%-off florist ribbon had nothing to do with it.

We walked in, got a deathtrap cart, and Corrie asked if she could stand on the end of it.  I said no, because I am a safety-conscious woman who watches Dateline NBC.  I turned my back for 2.8 seconds to get a sales flyer (because I needed to know what entirely useful craft supplies were 50% off this week).  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of metal and my daughter crashing toward the floor.

In slow motion, I turned to my right to see that Corrie, ever obedient, had not climbed up on the end of the basket, she had climbed onto the side of it.  The whole thing was in the process of falling down on top of her. 

And I, in that instant, wanting to redeem myself for the son-hanging-upside-down-from-his-pants incident, inserted my leg between my falling daughter and the falling cart. 

She is safe.  My leg, however, is not. 

It hurt SO badly that it took every bit of self-control I had not to sit down in the floor of the store and weep.  But I couldn't, because they might think I was one of those crazy lawsuit people, and what if they flagged me as a troublemaker and wouldn't let me buy 50% off scalloped scissors anymore? 

I managed to hold myself together, though I was gritting my teeth and fighting back tears.  I even finished my shopping trip.  (That is courage, y'all.  Courage.)  I came home and nursed my wounds.

But the point of this entire story (believe it or not, there is one) is that a few minutes ago I took a picture of my battered leg so I could blog about it--truly, there are some glorious bruises--when I realized in the nick of time that oh my word, I nearly posted a picture of my thigh on the internet. 

I think I need a new hobby. 

Hobby Lobby is my second favorite store in all the land. 

I love everything about this store--the sales are amazing, and oh great day all the crafty gear makes me instantly want to weave potholders the minute I walk into the door.  They are probably running a craft-lovers racket, and I am the Chief Sucker.  My budget has taken a battering over the years, because, "Look!  It's decoupage glue for 50% off!  And what if I need decoupage glue in the next decade?" 

See?  Chief Sucker. 

Yesterday Corrie and I went to Hobby Lobby to buy some gifts.  Now, here is where I should tell you that as much as I love their store, their grocery carts are horrible.  Nearly every one I've ever used has been top-heavy and wobbly.  There was one incident years ago in which my then-one-year-old son ended up hanging upside down by his pants, and I can assure you it was entirely the cart's fault.  My preoccupation with the 50%-off florist ribbon had nothing to do with it.

We walked in, got a deathtrap cart, and Corrie asked if she could stand on the end of it.  I said no, because I am a safety-conscious woman who watches Dateline NBC.  I turned my back for 2.8 seconds to get a sales flyer (because I needed to know what entirely useful craft supplies were 50% off this week).  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of metal and my daughter crashing toward the floor.

In slow motion, I turned to my right to see that Corrie, ever obedient, had not climbed up on the end of the basket, she had climbed onto the side of it.  The whole thing was in the process of falling down on top of her. 

And I, in that instant, wanting to redeem myself for the son-hanging-upside-down-from-his-pants incident, inserted my leg between my falling daughter and the falling cart. 

She is safe.  My leg, however, is not. 

It hurt SO badly that it took every bit of self-control I had not to sit down in the floor of the store and weep.  But I couldn't, because they might think I was one of those crazy lawsuit people, and what if they flagged me as a troublemaker and wouldn't let me buy 50% off scalloped scissors anymore? 

I managed to hold myself together, though I was gritting my teeth and fighting back tears.  I even finished my shopping trip.  (That is courage, y'all.  Courage.)  I came home and nursed my wounds.

But the point of this entire story (believe it or not, there is one) is that a few minutes ago I took a picture of my battered leg so I could blog about it--truly, there are some glorious bruises--when I realized in the nick of time that oh my word, I nearly posted a picture of my thigh on the internet. 

I think I need a new hobby.