Upside down days

Some mornings, you wake up and open the refrigerator door and find Optimus Prime guarding your pickles.
And you know what kind of day you're going to have.
You sit down to change a diaper near the computer table and decide to check the weather on the internet and when it pops up all you notice is the finger smudges on the screen and you close the browser without noticing the weather and the baby has scooted away and the only diaper left was upstairs anyway and you know - it's going to be that kind of day.
You juggle the toddler on one hip while trying to teach the six year old how to tell the minutes on the clock - again - and the five year old can't figure out that 15 plus 0 doesn't equal 18.  And it is quite officially that kind of day.

You run to the store for diapers and remember that you need toilet paper too and the five year old needs underwear and you're out of plastic bags and suddenly you've spent too much but it's too late and you didn't get a thing that was even fun to shop for and, well, you know.  That kind of day.
The three year old falls on the rocky driveway and skins his knee but only wants a bandaid on the outside of his pants and you put it there because it makes him stop crying but innately you know you will forget to take it off before those pants get to the washing pile and won't think about it again until you fold laundry and find the indelible mark and feel like a fool all over again.
And nap time is late because you're children can't grasp the concept of a time change simply because everyone else set their clocks back and you don't really understand it either because it's now dark before  five p.m. and it seems depressing.

Your brother stops by to chat just as meal time is approaching.  The houseplants mysteriously disappear off the shelves.  You notice as you're burning the pork chops that there seem to be several someones clustered in the little half bathroom and being rather quiet.  You peek in the door and find the houseplants and all four of your offspring playing jungle by mixing sprigs of the succulent with the spider plant and throwing in a plastic penguin for effect and the sink is clogged and the water is purple and the toddler is wearing dirt and he stinks and you don't say anything.  You are not surprised since, after all, you are well aware that such things are inevitable when it is that kind of day.
Your husband comes in the door hungry after lugging firewood around all day and tells you he's been craving the chocolate chip cookies that you used to make in the early days of marriage.  And he takes a bite of one of the batch that you just made and you see it in his face that these cookies are apparently not anything like those ones that you used to make and you haven't a clue what you did differently.
You make rice for supper, which mostly ends up under the table and under the baseboards and in every cranny of the toddler's pants and and booster and he mixes some with his milk just for good measure and why does he think his full plate would make a good hat?

The boys take turns sharing the bath while the others strip to their underwear and take flying leaps onto mommy's and daddy's bed until the three year old gets bored while you are dressing the baby and decides to sneak downstairs instead of sitting in the bath.  You realize he's missing and he hollers up cheerfully that he's just putting papers in the wood stove and will be right up.  You panic on several levels and yell for him to stop and never touch the stove and get his little backside in the bath before it gets a stiff rebuke from your benevolent hand.  You run down and find the wood stove open and who knows what those papers were but they have been efficiently reduced to ashes.
And finally everyone is getting tucked in and you find the stash of little blankets that the toddler has been storing on the far side of his crib where you really can't reach without major intervention.  And after you say goodnight and go downstairs, the three year old peeks around the corner and surprises the heck out of you because you assumed he was already asleep.  And you march him back up to bed but your appearance makes the toddler excited so he sits up and starts telling babbly stories to his buddy who has been returned and they blow raspberry sounds into the dark for much too long.

You go downstairs and clean up rice and do the dishes and empty out some old leftovers so that you can use the tupperware to put tonight's cold supper in.  Your very gracious husband helps unclog the bathroom sink and you replant some of the succulent leaves and put away all the jungle penguins and lizards and very realistic rubbery spiders.  You start the laundry without remembering the bandaid and sweep and put away the new diapers and admit to your husband how much you spent at the store.
And you run outside to dump some old kale into the compost bin and it is so cold but the stars are bright and there's the crunch of the first snow under your feet.

And you shiver.
But it is beautiful.
And you catch your breath.
And you thank God for the moment.
And you run inside to hug the wood stove and smile to see your husband relax at the end of his own long day.
And you know you should have started the day with more thanks and less busyness.
And you decide to blog about it.
Because everybody has days like this.