Yesterday, the day after Mother’s Day, I was nursing one nasty chocolate-induced hangover.

But it was so worth it.

Chocolate is just about the only currency I’ll accept in exchange for each load of laundry cleaned, meal prepared and paycheck earned since last Mother’s Day.

My men know me so well…

It wasn’t until I opened the second box of Fanny May delectables that I heard a little voice inside my head whisper, “Be careful what you wish for.”

I ignored it and tore open the packaging, slapping away any groping fingers intent on raiding my loot. Selfish? Hardly. I figured there were just enough pieces to account for each and every concert attended, practice session chauffeured, scout patch affixed and sock paired.

And what did I get for my brazen display chocolate gluttony?

Two extra pounds, a dull, nagging headache and a bad case of “fog brain”.  Not good for a busy Monday morning in my house.

As such, I shouldn’t have been surprised to find a gym uniform laying forgotten in the dryer, a text book left behind on a bedroom desk and a half-packed lunch sitting abandoned in the refrigerator.

After a strong cup of coffee and a “hair of the dog”, I started fielding phone calls from the three school to which I would end up making urgent deliveries.

And, so it goes, I’m well on my way to earning next year’s stash…