It’s The Day

It’s the day you spend one hour vacuuming the house and three hours trying to dislodge a pink Barbie comb out of the vacuum cleaner engine.

It’s the day you got a sitter for the baby, switched preschool carpool days, set the alarm thirty minutes early to put on makeup and iron a shirt in order to get to school for the class party, only to find out your kid told you the wrong day.

It’s the day you rush out the door to meet the bus on time, stub you toe and spill your Starbucks on your freshly ironed blouse only to have your kid say, “Why didn’t you bring the dog?”

It’s the day you remember to bring the dog to the bus stop but he sees a cat and pulls you into the half shut door which hits your brow bone so hard that you see stars, but you stumble to the bus stop anyway only to have the kid say, “Why are you late?”

It’s the day you spend the morning in bed trying not to puke then the rest of the day in the bathroom puking but manage to put dinner on the table only to have the kids say, “Gross, I hate this.”

It’s the day you stay up until 2a.m. finishing the Halloween costume your child would die if they didn’t have, only to have, at the light of day, your kid declare, “Never mind mom, I’m just gonna wear a sheet.”

It’s the day you spend hours dusting every last knick-knack, window blind and piece of molding in your family room only to have someone light a fire without opening the flue.

It’s the day you do every load of laundry but the “reds” only to have your kid tell you at 10pm he needs his red shirt for gym class tomorrow.

It’s the day you splurge for a sitter so you can have lunch with your girlfriend only to have your kid wake up with a high fever and the runs.

It’s the day you cave into your maternal conscience and put clean sheets on those stupid bunk beds only to throw out your back and be forced to cancel the hair appointment that’s made your life worth living for the last two weeks.

It’s the day you’re cemented to the couch with the bad back and heating pad, wondering if you’ll be incapacitated through the rest of the fall planting season only to have your daughter bring you a “Get Well” drawing, a root beer and a kiss.

It’s the day that anything that could possibly hit the domestic fan and fly in your face does; only you realize it’s going to be okay.

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