My husband texted me the other morning, “How’s it going?”
I was quick to reply, “good,” and continued tidying up, feeding the boys and quieting brother squabbles.
Around 9:30 a.m., I decided that brushing my teeth was way overdue since I hadn’t brushed them when I woke up, and I drank a full mug of coffee. Ick.
Easy task, right? Brushing my teeth would take one minute, and I told my husband that we were having a good day.
I began walking upstairs to go brush my teeth and the toddler began screaming. Because I am never, ever allowed to walk away from him. And suddenly, he was incapable of going up the stairs himself because he was so traumatized… so I carried all 30 pounds of him up the stairs to our one and only bathroom (these are the days that I wish we had a downstairs bathroom that I could sneak into).
I put the toddler down, went into the bathroom, put toothpaste on my toothbrush and heard something dump all the way down the stairs.
Within five minutes, my good day had turned bad.
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