It all started on my way to my hair appointment. I have this great and talented friend who makes it her mission to help keep my hair under control. She will never tell me how much to pay her, so I bring her coffee and leave behind whatever cash I have in my wallet at the time. Since one should never get their hair done without being properly caffeinated, I stopped by Dutch Brothers on the way out of town. I got myself an Oregon chai latte and the boys half a cup of water each. (They feel important and water doesn't stain the way coca does). I gave them specific instructions to leave the straws IN and the lids ON. The direction proved impossible for the little one who had removed both before we made it off Market street. At the next available traffic light, I pulled the old "look! There's cows! and snatch the cup away before he remembers there are no cows on market street" technique.
I felt a headache coming on, so I popped a Tylenol at the next light, intending to wash it down with the newly confiscated water. I failed to take into account the partially melted ice, so I got a big mouthful of that as well as the water. So as my Tylenol tablet floated around in my mouth in a puddle of water and ice, I had to make a decision. I couldn't chew, because then I'd end up with a big bite of medicine and that would just be gross. I couldn't spit it out because that was my last Tylenol and I needed it! The only option was to swallow and hope the ice melted quickly. I did, and the ice formed a bit of a log jam in my esophagus--no airway obstruction, but OW! I furiously massaged my throat in hopes the friction would help move it on down, but to no avail. It went on like this for far too long before I remembered that perfectly warm beverage in the cupholder. One swallow and life returned to normal.
I stopped at the next Dutch Brothers I came to for my hairdresser's coffee. One's hairdresser should also be properly caffeinated before a haircut. As I pulled out of the driveway, I reached for my (now lukewarm) beverage to take a long draw and grabbed hers instead. As molten hot mocha wound it's way into my stomach, I began to doubt my sanity. (My friend forgave me for drinking out of her cup, thankfully).
All was right with the world until about 5pm. At that point I started dinner. I was browning ground beef and spicy pork sausage along with some onions so we could have Pioneer Woman's Cowboy calzones for dinner, when Nathaniel comes running in, naked from the waste down, holding his (dry) underwear, telling me he has to go potty. Off we run to the bathroom where he accomplishes his mission and earns his potty training treat. Two seconds later, while I am back at the stove, scraping brown bits off the bottom of my stainless steel pan, he come running in, "Mommy! I peed in your room!"
Sherlock Holmes here went to work and concluded that he knew he needed to go and took off his underpants. He was too absorbed with whatever was on television to leave the room and started to potty on the floor. He caught himself and decided to use the opportunity to get M&Ms, hence the rest of the story.
Side note--if you are trying to punish a kid a kid by making him clean up his urine from the floor with a towel, don't bother. He'll just think it's fun, and you will hear yourself saying something like. "Don't you know cleaning is not supposed to be fun?!" Then you will think, I wonder how long before that line backfires on me?
OK, I know it's already been a long post, but bear with me. And just remember, I had to do this in real life.
The meat was done, the 3 cheese mixture combined, the dough divided and rolled into 6-inch circles. The only thing left was to spray the pan with non stick spray, put the filling in the circles, seal them and stick them in the oven. Piece of cake. I hummed to myself as I removed the spray from the cabinet and grunted a little as I removed the lid. POP! off it came and before I knew what was happening, I was standing in a shower of spent butter flavored Pam. I must have made some sort of sound effect, because my husband (home on break) asked 3 times if everything was OK before he came to investigate. He found me with oil literally dripping off my eyelashes and fingertips. All I could think was Why is there cooking spray soaking into my bra right now?
This time Sherlock Holmes deduced that the canister must have developed some sort of slow leak that filled the lid and went flying as soon as the lid could no longer contain the liquid.
I managed to get dinner made and in the oven, then out of the oven and into my husband before he had to take off for worship practice and into the children as well. The boys were changed into jammies, had their shoes on and we were ready to head out the door. We were heading to Library story time via Sears to buy vacuum cleaner bags. I had changed my shirt--covered in disturbingly bright yellow grease--but had no time for a shower. I was putting my shoes on when I hear Nathaniel say, "My underwear is wet!!" In the time it took me to finish putting on my shoes (I'm pretty fast at that), and grab a pull up and clean pants (I'm pretty fast at that too), the child had opened my make up drawer, applied mascara as "chapstick" and dumped out an entire container of $13 eye shadow all over the inside of the drawer.
At this point, I was tempted to throw in the towel and stay home, but some days, it's better to be around witnesses, you know?
I'd like to say I learned some valuable lessons through all of this, and to a certain extent I did. I did think of a few things that I am thankful for:
1) I did have a good hair day (after Maura worked her magic)
2) my washer and dryer work really well. So do Kids and Pets cleaner and Oxy clean.
3) every member of my family enjoyed their dinner.
4) God is more patient with me than I am with my children
6) My foundation is OK even though there is no saving the eye makeup.
7) My husband was very sweet to me.
8) Today is a new day
9) His grace is sufficient
10) I was not struck by lightning when I read, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds" and thought Ha! All they had to contend with was persecution, imprisonment and death. I'd like to hear what James has to say about my two-year old!
11) God can use anything as sandpaper to smooth off my rough edges. The combination of two year olds and cooking spray is surprisingly efficient.
It reminds me of the Music Machine song "He's still workin' on me/ to make me what I ought be/How loving and patient he must be/'cause he's still workin' on me."