A half gallon of heaven

If ever there was a food that represented Lindsey, it was this.

I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful.

Hysterical. The word derives from the Latin word histericus, meaning "of the womb."  The ancients thought a woman's female reproductive organs were to blame for any emotional fits she displayed. They weren't too far off, I think. Where am I going with this? Well, some days I feel like a slave to my hormones. I usually take pride in my level head, so I can't stand that I can look at a calendar and say, "Caleb, you better avoid me for these three days of the month because I will be completely irrational and most likely try to kill you."
How can one person's emotions vary so drastically? Join me, I pray you, on my own personal emotional roller coaster ride of the last 24 hours:
1. Find some rad pants at the thrift store for three bucks. I am beautiful and trendy.
2. Two hours later, two-year-old urinates on carpet, which is followed by reprimanding her in a less-than-pleasant tone. I am now the basest of parents, and worthy of CPS intervention.
3. Hang up finishing touches in Jesse's Pinterest-worthy nursery (yes, a year late). I am crafty and creative.
4. Accidentally download virus onto family computer. I am stupid and incompetent.
5. Alaina repeats the word "stupid"after computer incident. See #2 feelings.

My roommates and I used to have compliment sessions in college. Nothing boosts your morale like hearing a thirty-minute discourse of reasons why you are the best ever. Some days I could sure use one of those. Maybe I'll plan one for this week's family home evening lesson...