My terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

It's official: I'm having a bad day. I don't mean to complain, but it seems like some venting may be in order. It all started innocently enough: we woke up and had breakfast. After some research, I introduced soy yogurt into Cate's diet. Unfortunately, this will be relevant later in the story. While Catelynn sweetly took her first nap, I showered and got ready for the afternoon of errands. I even called a friend to see if she could meet us for lunch. All very pleasant so far. I arrived in Franklin at the children's consignment with plenty of time to drop off the items I had to sell and head to lunch. I parked the car in front of the store, and carried in my boxes from the trunk. When I was returning for the last one, Wesley was screaming frantically, "Spit up!! Lots of spit up everywhere." Sometime the boy can be a bit dramatic, especially when it comes to spit up, so I told him to relax and I would clean it up. I opened the back door and found vomit covering poor Catelynn and her car seat, with more coming. So sad and pathetic. Now, I was alarmed, and Wesley was still "freaking out" (as he told Marc on the phone later). Suddenly, I recalled the soy yogurt. Not good. I cleaned her up just a bit, then jumped in the car to move to a parking spot and head inside for a more thorough job. It wasn't until I felt an unsettling jolt that I remembered there was a waist-high yellow pole behind my right bumper. Yep, definitely hit that! I got back out and quickly surveyed the damage: large dent in fender and broken tail light. Moving on. I parked my injured Jeep and pulled both kids from the car (one vomit covered, the other, thankfully, not). We headed straight to the bathroom inside, and I pulled the spare outfit (thank God) from the diaper bag, only to realize it had pants and short sleeves. Please note: it is January! As luck would have it (really, there is a bright side!), I am at a children's clothing consignment store. Now, to buy a sweater. Once we got back home, the kids took a nap, and I began the car seat detail. Three words: pockets of vomit. So not good. Once the washer was running, I sat down, nostrils still stinging from disinfectant, to open the mail. There, I found the icing on my cake made of crap: a collections notice for 2004 Indiana state taxes (Marc has talked to the IRS multiple times, and this was supposedly resolved!). Wow. Think I'll call it a day.