Mrs. Stewart's purse felt extra heavy today. The Italian leather strap was digging into her left shoulder and as she shifted it, she wondered why it wasn't stronger after nursing three babies, carrying three screaming toddlers and now lugging all three of their soccer gear to practice.
She grudgingly went through her mental checklist. Blackberry. Check. Adderall for Chloe and Dylan. Check. Jesus she needed to get that perscription refilled. Glue for Marie's science project. Check. Book on Menopause for sister. Check. Extra tie for Mark because he had spilled coffee on his this morning. Check.
What could be so heavy? The triplets were fighting in the back of her car now, and she suddenly realized she'd been sitting inert in the drivers seat, ignoring the screams of protests of her children still locked in the car. She hit the button on her door, and the van door slid silently open, the triplets tumbling out and leaving Mrs. Stewart in silence as they raced towards the soccer field. Her eyes darting quickly left and right, she jerked her bag off her shoulder and popped open the little orange plastic container. Yes, she thought, she would need to get another perscription.
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