The Monday when you wake up groggy from the weekend of caring for victims of the stomach virus. You stand in front of the closet for way too much time because you can’t focus long enough to put together any resemblance of style. Your husband has to leave early for work. You pin your unruly hair into a mess of an updo. You go downstairs to find your boys. Hubby dressed them, so that’s great. But it’s whacky day at preschool, and your 4year old resists whacky. You fix breakfast and go back upstairs to apply necessary makeup.
Makeup is finished. Now it is time to wake the baby. She is ill. She prefers another three hours of sleep. You are most certain she has done the dirty, so you wrestle her to the ground in your dress clothes. Nope. No poo. You change her clothes -with a fight- and return to the marathon of getting to the car. Vitamins, coffee, backpacks, shoes, etc. one of the boys comes running to say that the baby stinks. Poop. Metaphorically and literally. Another diaper change you don’t have time for. You comply. Btw- that’s another hand washing session. You tie shoes and get everyone to the car.
It’s 7:21 am. You missed the golden minute. Your entire drop-off routine is a wash now. Backing out of the garage into the pouring rain, you announce to the car that you are all late. You attempt to restart the day with some Toby Mac. One drop off: semi smooth. Rush to the sitters and drop off the baby. Third drop off involves a meandering 4 year-old in the rain with no umbrella. Yep, missed the drive up drop off.
Get to work. Spend a few minutes working and listening to praise and worship music. Then you manage to inadvertantly offend a co-worker about the office letterhead and a 20 year friend, in a matter of minutes. Spend the next few minutes trying to print on letterhead. Why is this so difficult for me? Upside-down, backwards. Geez. It’s like I have a block. You finally get it right and take off to deliver. You take the three page letter of recommendation to a friend to learn that the letter must be less than one page in length. Shew.
No time for a coke or restroom breaks. You receive a text from a neighbor stating that the neighbor’s house is on fire. You re-route to the sitter’s house for pick-up. You walk into the sitter’s to learn that the baby has a raging nose bleed. And you are of course wearing a white shirt. And she, of course, is wearing a brand new outfit. After getting all three kids into the car, you head home.
A jolly police man stops you and tells you he isn’t sure when you will be able to get home. As you are standing on the street negotiating with the kind man, your car door opens and the middle child is trying to get out onto a Main Street. Your oldest is having an emotional breakdown inside of the car because you can’t get home. The kind officer consoles your child and tells you to take them shopping. This man has obviously never taken three small children into any store. After shutting down that idea he suggests the park. The baby has on no shoes.
You beg him to allow you to drive onto the vacant lot behind your house and park. He doesn’t approve but doesn’t stop you. You pull down into the lot. You park. You then traipse through the woods in heels with a chubby two-year old on your hip and two boys running directly toward the fire. You can’t catch them because your heels are sinking in the mud.
After getting everyone into the house, the oldest reminds you of the free karate class tonight for which you have a voucher. But the voucher is nowhere to be found. You send him anyway. You get a text from a friend that her sewer is backing up into the house, and you desperately want to help her. But you are ankle deep in poo today too! Fast forward. He returns home. The middle is distraught because he didn’t get a belt at karate. Everyone showers. You wash the blood off of the baby. Then there are jammies and the brushing of teeth. You snuggle the baby up for a moment before placing her in bed, and she is once again covered in blood. You take a deep breath, clean her face with a warm cloth, and take her back to bed.
You hold her close and sing a very poor version of Lauren Daigle and thank God for the chaos of your day. And then you ask Him to make tomorrow a little less eventful. But if not, you will love it just the same. Happy Monday, Mommas!!
❤ Shalom
Love this and you! Sounds like we have so much in common!