I'm going to pretend that I didn't change four poopy diapers today. I am seriously thinking about axing fiber and putting Henry on a strict diet of cheese and bubble gum to see if we can't slow things down in the GI region.
I'm also going to pretend that I didn't change his outfit five times today and that he doesn't eat like ShrekOnFastSunday at every meal.
I'm going to pretend that I didn't spike a sippie cup on the floor after the second spilled glass of water soaked the rug in front of the dishwasher. That might jeopardize the "Holy Mother" esteem in which you all hold me and I couldn't bear such a fall from your grace.
I'm going to pretend that Henry didn't spill the entire bottle of hand sanitizer all over the passenger seat of the car. This one I'll take partial responsibility for; I did leave him in the car, (doors open,) while I brought the Costco loot into the kitchen. Ok. Fine. I might have sneaked in a quick e.mail check while I was in there too, but I didn't see any harm in letting him pretend to steer the car and honk the horn for a few minutes; the garage is right off the kitchen, and I left the door open so I could see him the whole time. You can draw your own conclusions about my maternal neglect. All I'll say is that sometimes you transgress the laws of conventional wisdom when you've been alone with a two year old for days on end, and you're craving alone time like a hormonal woman craves chocolate, and there's still an hour and a half 'til nap time. Please note, however, that the spill was a blessing in disguise, because the car was a little wiffy after Henry's CostcoHotDogLunch, but as soon as that anti-bacterial gel hit the upholstery, the processed pork smell vanished like magic and in an instant, the car was filled with the stringent stench of Ethyl Alcohol. Mmmmm!
I'm going to pretend that Henry didn't shatter, (and I do mean shatter,) a bowl that didn't even belong to us on the hearth while I was talking to a very inquisitive Norma about piano tuners--a subject that I know just a smidge less than nothing about.
I'm also going to pretend that when I asked the Mia Maid (*Mormon speak: Mia Maids is the name given to the group of girls between 14 and 16 years old in the youth program of our church. We think it's silly too.) Anyway, I'm going to pretend that when I asked the one sitting next to Henry, to help him eat his ice cream civilly, that she actually helped him instead of laughing hysterically while he smeared chocolate cream all over his head, face, arms, legs and car seat the whole ride home. He couldn't have been more brown if he had been dunked in a puddle of Elmer's and dragged around a baseball diamond. I would have taken a picture, but Nate took the camera to the Mavericks game tonight, so I'm a camera-less basketball widow 'til the wee hours.
And finally, I'm going to pretend that after the bath that was necessary to remove the chocolate paint job there was a diaper in the house and that I didn't have to put Henry back in the wet diaper that he had been wearing (SAD! and GROSS!) and go to Tom Thumb at 9:34 p.m. for diapers because we were completely out.
I'm going to pretend all of those things didn't happen so I can begin my weekly blessing counting. Oh brother dear...Where? To? Start?
I think I maintained a pretty impressive sanity level considering the aforementioned series of events, which, by the way were in no way embellished for dramatic effect; this post could pass a polygraph. The sippie cup incident was the ugliest it ever got and judging from his delirious laughter, I think Henry interpreted my outburst as, Mom'sASillyHead! more than, LookOutShe'sGonnaBlow!
Smiling because Henry pooped on the potty. Yeah, in addition to the four other bowel movements. I'm serious as a heart attack about the bubble gum diet.
I'm smiling about my new rug. I recently discovered a retail gem that y'all have probably long since known and loved, but if you haven't already, check out World Market--it's a delightfully colorful, eclectic blend of treasures from every corner of the earth.
I frown at speckled bananas, but I smile and smile about the banana bread that they're so tasty in. I made a loaf today and smiled my way through a few warm, nutty slices.
I'm smiling (again) because I have great friends, because I got to chat with Joanie this afternoon, because I got a great e.mail from Kate, and an invitation for a walk with Sarah, and a phone call from my sweeter than Skittles mom.
Smiling because I know the first thing Nate will say when I ask him how the basketball game was: "It was fun, but Man! By the end, I just couldn't wait to get home to you and Mr. Willams." He's a family man.
I'm smiling because I'm in my bed, which bed is a Texas-sized helping of pillowy fluff and fluffy pillows. And if you can believe it, even at the end of a day like today, I love my life. I've never felt so miserably inadequate and so tempted to swear as I do in the face of motherhood, but I've also never felt so whole as I do when Henry reminds me that we, "need-a say a prayer firss," at bedtime. Or when the last words of our day are, "I luf you mommy." And our lips meet in one staccato little kiss through the bars of his crib. Goodnight, Henry. I'm smiling in my bed because I can't wait for tomorrow. With you.