In reality, I’ve purposefully visited the grocery store on my Friday night date night, accidentally triple booked a Sunday brunch, melted my purse on my smooth top stove, unknowingly worn black sweats garnished with multiple floured hand prints all day, curdled fettuccini alfredo so bad you’d think it was cottage cheese, taken my 3-year-old to her first day of preschool a week early  had my children spontaneously judge my meals from a zero to five on their kid-created food rating scale. I’m no stranger to insanity.