When your morning starts with someone whispering, “Daddy, the potty upstairs is overflowing,” you know it’s Monday.
Andrew sprinted upstairs to stop the tide and I stumbled around hunting towels. Which are always dirty, by the way. And missing. Why is that?
Once we had a load of towels started and the door to the bathroom locked until someone had enough sense and intestinal fortitude to un-stop the potty, we headed back downstairs and blinked at each other.
And just like that, we were off and running.
We’ve turned a room in our basement into a ballet studio and were hosting a ballet camp this week. So I had three very excited ballerinas to greet me at the breakfast table. Once I had wrestled three little girls into three sets of tights, three leotards, and three sets of ballet slippers, I begged Adam to “Bring Mama some food, please, baby,” because I needed to stop the low-blood-sugar-shakes.
He complied and I sat on the couch and jammed a granola bar down my throat while still handing out instructions like, “Go brush your teeth, please,” and “Yes, Ellen, I’m certain that the tights go on under the leotard.”
Andrew appeared all dressed for work and I think I may have begged for coffee. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.
A few minutes later, after I was properly caffeinated, Andrew left for work. I let the ballet teacher in and set about trying to get the rest of my gang dressed and ready for a day of school. At exactly 8:55 am, the kids excitedly reported that Kitts the Fearsome Kitty had left a dead mole on the front porch.
No better way to say “Welcome to our house!” than a dead rodent, right?
Without The Man handy to do all the disgusting tasks, I grabbed the Critter Shovel we keep beside the garage and set about disposing of the mole. Just as I got him on the business end of my shovel, the first ballet campers rolled into the driveway and asked where to park. I did my best to direct them while trying not to draw attention to the mole-hearse in my hands.
Once I had our guests pointed in the right direction, I headed toward the woods to dispose of Kitts’s gift. In order to do this, I walked right through a patch of poison ivy.
I’m highly allergic.
I went back into the house but on the way I noticed that when Ian took the trash out this morning (Yay!) he dragged it across the front porch and left a slime trail of garbage juice all the way to the driveway (Boo.) I instructed him on how to clean it up and then got distracted by something… I can’t remember what. Probably tracking down the baby and installing him safely in his pack ‘n play. Oh, and I think I greeted another camper and her mama.
Before I could get any further, Ian came in crying that he couldn’t lift the bucket full of water and his brothers wouldn’t help them because a friend of theirs had appeared and they must like that boy better than him because now he was left to clean up the garbage juice all by himself. Waaaaaaah.
I patted him on the head and then helped him carry his bucket and slosh the front porch clean.
Yet another crisis averted, I made it to the bathtub and began soaping up my legs with jewelweed soap. Through the floor, I could hear excited little ballerinas being corralled and all the mamas gathering to say hello. And yet there I was, standing in the bathtub with all my clothes on, soaping up my legs. And giggling like a fool.
Because it wasn’t even 9 am and already I’d dealt with death, poison ivy, tears, sewage, garbage, and a host of ballerinas.
This happens all the time around here, a strange mix of the bizarre and mundane. And most times I forget to tell y’all. But I made myself a list so that when I made it to the end of the day I would still remember and write it down properly. Some morning, I’m going to sit on my front porch and quietly sip my coffee for as long as it takes to finish it and spend time in quiet contemplation.
And I’ll bet it will feel dull.
But unless I write this down, I will probably be too addled to remember why.
What about your day today, whether it’s bizarre or just plain funny, made you giggle?