My day started well. Scratch that, actually really great - Jeff brought me coffee in bed and the news said it would only get up to 75 degrees today - tops! This, however, was fairly short lived. Jeff left for work, my coffee got cold, the local news ran out and turned to some morning show that claims to be "news" but is more of a mix of reality t.v. and some version of semi-warranted-but-mostly-useless-information, and then all the kids woke up. It was bound to happen - but you know how it's always too soon...
The next couple of hours went fairly uneventfully - I guess the "events" felt the need to cram themselves all in a small terrifyingly unsalvagable (is that even a word?) half hour right before we had to be out of the house - which they did.
I was in the shower and Jack barges in - I will never get used to not having privacy even though it's been m.a.n.y. years since I've had even a resemblance of what privacy should be - with a bunch of broken glass cupped in his little chubby hands. I try my best not to freak out, although my very best, when it comes to situations like this, does not turn out very impressive at all. I turn off the water (hair still soapy and completely sopping wet), then rush to get the shards of glass out of my toddler's hands. I follow him into Natalie's room and find that he's broken her "snow" globe (that has no snow but tons of glitter in it) and there is glass - let me rephrase - slivers of glass, everywhere. The kind of slivers that you can feel when they are stuck in your foot but cannot see the exact location of until the skin on the bottom of your foot grows over the injury, gets infected and then has to be "surgically" removed (yes, personal experience talking - a post for another day - plus I would have to allow Jeff his take on the story as his take on it is painfully different from mine).
So there is glass everywhere, a glittery water substance everywhere, and just as I usher the kids away from the entertainment that is the huge mess on Natalie's floor, grab some towels, a plastic bag and the vacuum cleaner and get to work, I hear the dog start throwing up in another part of the house. REALLY?!? This is about the time my wet, soapy haired head begins to feel like it's going to explode. And we have to be out of the house in 13 minutes or less. **Que the dun-dun-dun-DUN sound effect.**
I finally take a second (literally - only a second - as I have no more time to allot to thinking in this situation) and remember what my husband always says to me - despite the fact that it physically hurts my brain when he says it not to mention the pain it causes to recall it on my own - the whole, "Keep your problems small" bit and his, "Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it" stuff. When all is going well, I couldn't agree more. This morning did not go well. This advice was not fun "food for thought," but it's what came to my head so I went with it. I put a smile on my face, thanked God for the blessing that no one was hurt and super thankful that where I had to be in 13 minutes wasn't to meet with the Pope, but was to be at swimming lessons - a little late wouldn't hurt (although I'm confident that given the chance to explain myself, the Pope would have been understanding).
In the end, we made it. Not on time (or even all that close - to be perfectly honest), but we made it and amazingly enough we all lived to tell about it. Even the dog.