This is one of those situations for which you could never fully prepare.
We are waiting for a grocery pickup order. Our oldest daughter, who has been pulling carpet from stairs, is slumped in the driver's seat riddled with exhaustion. I'm in the front passenger seat, offering commentary on the happenings around us, and three granddaughters in the middle seat of the SUV are downing dried fruit snacks that taste like the sole of your shoe.
Other cars have wheeled into numbered parking spots, received their orders and peeled out. Our daughter says she hopes someone comes soon, as the order contains conditioner, and her hair is a wreck.
I suggest she lean her head out the window so they can see what a mess her hair is and maybe that will speed things up.
Just then, a soft voice from behind says, "Grandma, I need help."
I look over my shoulder and the 11-year-old, the most peaceful, pliable one in the group, appears to be levitating.
She is in a plank-on-your-side position, her head extended toward one car window and her feet toward the other, hovering just below the top of the middle seats. "I'm stuck," she says, giggling but with a hint of angst.
"What do you mean?"
"I stretched over the seat to get something from the far back and I think the belt loop from my jeans is stuck in part of the shoulder strap."
"Girls, free your sister!" I snap.
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