I'm determined to have a good day today. So far, it's not happening, but it's only noon...
We started off on the wrong side of the bed, when the Smalls were up at 5:30 and wanting breakfast. Not going to happen, sorry kiddos. They were ordered/bribed/coerced/threatened back to their rooms, and given strict orders not to make a peep unless someone was dying (yes, I have officially become my mother...lovely). Due to the 5:30 fog, I'm a bit fuzzy on the details of what I threatened them with. I really wish I remembered, because it seemed to work: they let me sleep until 7:00. Woohoo!
Then things started breaking. Things like the toaster (not such a big deal today, as we're out of bread), the broom (slightly more concerning, given the state of the kitchen floor), the dishwasher (would have been a crisis, were it not quickly fixed), and then finally, the vacuum. All in the span of about two hours.
Yeah, I'm trying really hard to have a good day, but the universe appears to be conspiring against me.
On the brighter side, the dishwasher worked fine once I dislodged the offending Lego from the door seal (don't ask), and after 30 minutes of tinkering, I managed to get the vacuum working again (copious amounts of hair wrapped around the beater bar, requiring complete disassembly of the motor head. With screws that were recessed so deeply that nothing but a Gerber attachment was skinny/long enough to reach them. And lots of help from the Smalls. And the baby dinosaur running off with the beater belt. Is that what they mean by "quality time"?).
Sitting on the floor of the girl's room, with the vacuum in pieces, and tools spread out around me while the Small's clamoured to be the first to "help", I was reminded of a similar scene in our old house. Frustrated with the lack of maintenance response, and faced with a plugged sink in our only bathroom, I got out the trusty old pipe wrench, and set to work. The Smalls were very interested, and crowded around. Forty minutes later, as I was cursing beneath the sink, buried waist deep in the tiny cupboard, Small 1 offered up some helpful advice, in the form of "Mom, don't you know that fixing things is a Dad job?". Ever my defender, Small 2 quickly piped up "it's okay, she's not a normal mom!"
Umm...thanks. I think?
Back to today....
We also managed to get all the Small's rooms cleaned up (and vacuumed!), with everyone pitching in and working together. It's times like that when I just sit back on my heels and look at my children and think to myself "with all that I do wrong, I must be doing something right". Usually the thought is barely completed before Small 3 beans Small 1 with a Thomas the Train character, or Small 2 is caught building a lake for her Barbie to swim in. But it's the thought that counts, right?
So now I'm taking a breather, the immediate housework completed, the Small's rooms identifieable once again, the ever present laundry pile staring at my reproachfully. My happy children are running around outside, chasing the baby dinosaur (our dog, btw). The occasional cry punctures the laughter, but the tears are quickly dried by the other Smalls, and the game resumes once again.
Yeah, we're doing just fine.
