Friday was National Doughnut Day.
Allowing a holiday such as this one to go unobserved would be an unforgivable offense, so I googled "best doughnuts in Seattle" and was pleased to find that one of the top-rated bakeries (Top Pot Doughnuts) is less than a mile from our apartment.
I buckled the kids in the stroller and headed out the door, quite pleased with myself and my well-concocted plan.
It took me exactly one minute to realize that the world's most deadly hill was standing between me and my doughnut.
I almost cried, but instead pushed on.
When you're hauling a double stroller and at least 50 pounds of baby, Queen Anne Hill seems to sit at a 90-degree angle.
I wanted to quit.
I wanted to give up.
I wanted to lay on the grass and die.
The only thing that kept me going was the promise of Seattle's best maple bar.
And somehow, we made it.
I opened the door to the shop, triumphant, and then realized that I was completely drenched in sweat.
Seriously -- I looked like I had just jumped into a pool with my clothes on.
I was a vision, let me assure you.
The poor girl behind the counter made a valiant effort to not dry heave as I approached.
Simple acts of kindness, you know?
You better believe I ate two and a half doughnuts before the evening was over.
My children worked hard for their treat -- James by squealing at me when my speed did not meet his expectations and Lola by yelling, "Mom, go faster!" about 56 times on the way up the most populated part of the hill.
It's tough being a kid with a lazy mother.
The things I do for foods that happen to be frighteningly bad for me.