I Love My Mayhem

It’s not one of my Manic Mondays.
It’s Friday.
But I really don’t know the difference between Friday and Monday anymore, if I’m being honest.
Let’s be honest.
Having a three old is a manic mayhem whether it’s Friday or Monday.
Days like this, I love.
I haven’t stopped.
It’s totally ok.
Had you asked me at eight thirty this morning if I was going to have a peaceful, happy Friday, I probably would have told you, yes!

My J.R. was still asleep.
I felt like I had actually slept enough.
I was able to sneak in a few minutes just laying in bed, awake, but enjoying the silence.
Even with a hungry toddler, I made the time to make french toast while she sat quietly eating her cereal.
So I figured…
I’ll sit down and start an entry for today.
I’ve had one idea building for the last few days.
It needed pondering to be written tactfully.
But it needs to come out.
So I sat down.

Dora was on the T.V.
I wasn’t sure if that was going to interfere with my concentration but I think I’ve become pretty good at blocking out the toddler-type noise these days.
But not the toddler-type silence that screams something is up.
Sure enough.
I had not been down for five minutes when I turn around.
And BAM.
My adorable angel of a toddler has taken her sippie cup full of milk, and proceeded to dump it on the top of her head, patting it gently into her hair.
None on the table.
None on her clothing.
None on the floor.
None on her chair.

Impromtu bath time.
Writing will have to wait.
Just as the hair got washed…
Let’s pee in the tub!
Bath time over.

I had taken away the television privilege after the milk fiasco.
I wasn’t sure how great of an idea that was going to be until I looked out the kitchen windows at the sunshine that had actually decided to show up.
Park time it was.
How long does it take one mom, one dad and a three year old to pack a picnic lunch and get out the door?
An hour and ten minutes.
But two sandwiches, three cucumber roll ups, tupperwares of blueberries and bleu cheese, pepperoni sticks, cheese sticks, a pitcher of pineapple juice, chicken strips and a clean family room later –
Thankfully we were able to cram almost two hours of park time in before it clouded over too much to enjoy the temperatures anymore.

Now we are home.
Daddy is resting his healing knee.
J.R. is quietly watching cars.
Occasionally she comes in the kitchen to play patty cake, but that’s not as bad as spilled milk.
I’m cooking and creating, as I do when I need some quiet.
And my night will end.
It will end with a tired three year old.
It will end with a tired Daddy.
It will end with a tired Mommy.
It probably won’t end until there has been some other kind of manic mayhem to tire me even more.
But it will end.
But we made it through one more day.
One more day I won’t get back.
We are one day older.
We are one day closer to our future.
We are one day closer as a family.
And I am one more day in love with my mayhem.


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