The day was going swell. I had gone to bed before 10:00, and here it was 6:30 and Khyah was barely waking me up.
London wandered in to ask where daddy was. I told him "at work" and London was horrified: "In the nighttime?!"
Brandt wandered in crying, holding out a clean shirt to change him. I couldn't hold Khyah's bottle and change his shirt so I asked him to climb onto the bed, which he obligingly did. I pulled the shirt off - yep, definitely wet. Leaky diaper most likely, I thought. "Brandt, we'd better take that diaper off before we put your new shirt on."
And that, my friends, is where my day took a sudden turn.
"Poopy?! No wait, Brandt, don't . . . ." Too late. Poopy all over the bed.
In haste, I lay Khyah down and propped up her bottle, then ran for the wipes. Fortunately we contained it quickly. But the tone of the morning was set.
We couldn't get everything done. London insisted on being helped to get dressed. Brandt really wasn't feeling good. "There are bees in my tummy, mommy!" And I used poor judgment in deciding to fold the kids clothes while I got them dressed.
Took a quick shower, pulled Kyhah from bed to change her, and noticed the poopy on her blanket (happily, before I cuddled her close). Took care of my second poopy emergency of the day, and my good sense kicked in. "London, you get to buy lunch today! Lucky you!"
"I need to go potty, mommy!" Brandt and I ran, and we made it, but he jumped off the toilet before I could wipe. Diarrhea is not fun. I cleaned up my third poopy mess of the day.
We hurried down the stairs and tumbled into the car (because walking with a little boy who has diarrhea is surely a bad idea I told myself).
"Traffic is ALWAYS bad in the morning on this street," London counseled me as we sat in the long line waiting to turn left (as though he's ever been on that road in the morning). Note to self, don't drive to school.
Back home, another long project at work arrived (which is a blessing, of course, but still, it adds to the chaos). Brandt spilled a glass of water all over his (newly made) bed. The mustard exploded on me when I opened it. London's teacher informed me that today was a "rough day" for him. And to top it off, Count Dooku's light saber snapped in two!
And as I was writing this blog in my mind, I thought, "Is it just me, or are all my blogs focused on the bad things that happen?" I must be the most negative person ever. And I wondered to myself if I might have any positive experiences from the day.
And there they were: Brandt holding my hand and saying, "I love you too much, mommy!" Him playing trains and narrating the story: "Bust my buffers!" Smiles and hugs from all my kids. And wouldn't you know it, even the bad things I'd been through were pretty funny. In fact, they're the stuff that memories are made of. They're the spice of life, without which, I might be bored to tears (though a little boredom never hurt anyone, did it?)
And I wondered if maybe I'm not the only one who does this. We focus on the negative, never seeing the many positive things that surround us at the same time. Life weaves the good with the bad, and if we have the right eyes, life is more beautiful because of it.
In short, for all my whining, I love my life!