Days Like These

Days.

We all have ’em – right?

Here’s the ups and downs of yesterday at this house.

(I think I’ll put a Pollyanna spin on my day.  Just for kicks, you know.  Remember Pollyanna?  That kid in an old movie who changes a whole town with her upbeat, optimistic attitude?  She takes horrible aspects of her life and spins them with sticky-sweet cheerfulness.)

I woke up super sleepy  (I blame this on late night Survivor watching)  and  I decided that sleeping an extra half hour was a better use of my time than a shower.   So my hair looked rowdy today.  It sort of surprised me every time I caught my reflection in the microwave.   (But I guess that means tomorrow I will look fresh and new just by showering.)

At lunch over at the Lodge Piper knocked over her drink.  Her tall glass of grape juice.  It covered a large area with speed and efficiency.  (Hey, at least she was not sitting in my lap so no grape juice splattered on my clothes.)

While at the Lodge Bergen announced with urgency, “I have to go to bathroom” while making a face and holding his bum in a way that stated clearly, and more accurately, “I think I might have already gone to the bathroom.”  He had. And since I do not carry five year old bathroom emergency supplies with me any longer, he was forced to ride the half mile home in a most uncomfortable manner.  (Sorry, son.)  And upon reaching home I escorted him to the bathroom and offered my assistance.  First, I thought I would take off his sandals.  As they came off I saw something drop by his leg and assuming it was a matchbox car I reached for it.  It was not a matchbox car.  (I know, what was I thinking?)  Upon removing his jeans and his sandals I discovered that the excrement (which featured whole corn kernels if you were curious) had traveled down his entire leg, behind his knee and under his heel.  Under his heel. Just imagine that scene.  That smell.  These were not good times.  Not good times. (Curse you, Pollyanna.  Well.  I suppose Berg needed a bath anyway and accomplishing one bath before dinner was like a little head start.)

Oh, but I had not even dried Bergen off from his bath before I was accosted by my youngest daughter from her bunk where she was scheduled to be napping peacefully.  Upon entering Piper Finn’s room, she pointed to her sheet and said, “I got some poop on this.”  She then pointed to her wooden bunk itself.  “And this.”  Um – is pooping in places other than the proper receptacle contagious?    (Maybe it was time the sheets needed to be washed.  And after the poop was taken care of Finn slept happily for a long time.)

Later that evening, unloading the children at the Lodge for dinner, (It’s summer here, even if it’s spring where you live.  Hello Lodge meals, goodbye kitchen chores.) I grabbed my bag and heard a sloshing sound.  “Oh no!”  Otto’s applesauce spilled out of its container and was slipping in my bag.  Sympathetic sighs all around and Theresa’s quick action helped salvage most of the bag’s contents.   (Spilled applesauce smells better than spilled milk.)

Because we used Otto’s bib to clean up the applesauce spill, Little Wilde Man was forced to eat sans shirt protection.  And he was pretty messy with his pears and remaining applesauce.  So he was forced to break the shirts-must-be-worn-at-all-times rule in the dining hall.  (But his sweet chest is so adorable that he was quite the catch regardless.)

Thanks Pollyanna.  I guess my day could have been worse.   (And if this wasn’t my life, what in the world would I have to write about?)