February 28 18

Yesterday was one of those non-stoppers. You know, the kind where you eat a car lunch because there’sjustnotime. {It was a sprinkled donut, by the by.}


Between a tiring but adorable Purim carnival shoot and tiring back-to-back-to-back meetings, I decided to do something I rarely do these days. I stopped at the creative bags store to buy some {shocker!} creative bags for my mishloach manot (the kids and I are cooking up something … olympic … epic) and then ran across the street for a quick flat white before heading north to those pesky meetings. I’m typically a Keurig kind of girl — somewhat because of the cost of a Starbucks addiction, but mostly because of, you know, the Spano effect.

Ali! Ali Martell!

I turned around. What the…

You guys, IT WAS MY DAUGHTER EMILY. Calling my name.

It was Emily. She and a friend had walked the ten minutes from school during a spare.

{Yes, I realize that she calls me Ali or AliCat or Alimartell or Alimartell Dot Com. Yes, we are working on it. Yes, I find it extremely not okay because for so many years this child called me Mama and it warmed my heart and then broke it the day she started calling me MOM — not even Mommy, but MOM like I’m a hundred years old — and somewhere along the line she become thisclose to 17 and skipped right past MOM and now I’d kill for a MOM and not an AliCat.}

I never go for coffee in the middle of the day. I certainly never go to that Starbucks. I don’t even think I’ve ever been to that Starbucks. It’s nowhere near my home office (Read: my bed) or any of my actual offices. I cannot even think about all the little tiny pieces that needed to come together to make this kismet-y meet-cute happen.

Kismet. Like them.


{It’s apparently ’90s reference day at Cheaper Than Therapy}{Also known as your lucky day}

The extra caffeine came in super handy though. I made it through my meetings without breaking anything and without crying and then managed to figure out how to get a hair off of the sensor of my camera without breaking anything and without crying. Much.

And I didn’t even need Zack Morris to save me from a drug addiction.

Which, by the way, if you haven’t already fallen down the Zack Morris is Trash youtube wormhole, you must. Right now. I’ll wait. It’s only 10 short and completely worth it episodes. It may shatter your feelings about your youth, but I have teenagers. They do this to me hourly.



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