Rarely does a day go by when I don't wish I could stretch out in a quiet room with my head under the covers. If I try really hard, I can almost feel the cool sheets on my toes, feel my head sinking into the down pillow, feel the weight of the comforter around me, feel my heavy lids closing over bloodshot eyes...
And then someone chucks a ball across the room and jolts me back to my nap-free existence.
I'm mostly used to my rough-and-tumble life with little boys. I try to embrace the chaos, to expect adventure. Occasionally I can even laugh when ridiculous things happen.
This is me trying to laugh.
So today the kids and I took our ambitious selves on a walk/run/ride to Wedgewood Park. Some playgroup friends were meeting there and I didn't have time to exercise AND shower beforehand, so this was my compromise. It was a two-mile jaunt (one way), but our travels were safe and successful. Two other moms and their kids showed up. Good times for all.
Thirty minutes in, Zachary took off his socks and shoes, climbed a retaining wall made of railroad ties, and then fell about ten feet to the ground. During his descent, his foot caught on a sliver of wood and sliced open the skin. I was glad that this dime-sized skin flap on the ball of his foot was his only injury after such a fall.
One of the moms busted out a first aid kit from her car, so Zach had antibiotic gel and a Band-Aid on his wound in no time. His foot was tender, but he could gimp along just fine, and I was pretty sure his injury wouldn't require stitches. The greater problem, however, was getting home. A two-mile bike ride wasn't an option for Zach. No one had room enough for all of us (and our bikes and stroller) in their cars. So I started making phone calls to see who could come rescue us.
Garry was the first to respond. He picked up my keys at the park and loaded bikes into his trunk. At home, he got Lexi's car seat out of the house and then drove the van to the park. (Note: the driver's door to the van was wide open when he arrived at home. We were both glad that jumping a dead battery was not a chapter in this particular tale.) Once back at the park, we loaded up the double jogger and four hot and sweaty kids into the van. Garry drove us home, then took his car back to work.
Then we had lunch, which can only be compared to feeding a den of starving, wild lions. Except maybe with more screaming involved.
While cleaning Zach's wound in the tub later on, I was glad not to be a nurse who has to do such things for a living. He kicked and screamed and cried and moaned. The poor kid -- I'm sure it hurt as I was trying to scrape all the grit off his skin. Only after I threatened him with a trip to the hospital did he comply.
And now that Gavin is sleeping for a while, I want to crawl in bed myself. Little Miss isn't buying it, and the boys who are supposed to be having some quiet time keep bursting out of their bedroom without shouted demands, threats, and tears. I'm such a mean Mom!
On days like this, when my stamina wanes, I remember that we have survived worse.
Like the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day that ended in throwing away three pairs of pants.
Like the series of unfortunate events that DID include a dead van battery.
Like the ridiculous experience at the DMV.
These are the days of our lives, people. And they are tiring!