Sometimes the cards are simply not in ones favor.
One might wake up at 5 a.m. to take the new puppy out to potty. She'll notice the dirty dishes and the day-old coffee in the pot on her way out the back door. When she comes back in praising the properly peeing and pooping puppy beyond all reason and self-respect, she'll warm up the day-old coffee and glare at the three-day-old laundry sitting on the dining room table. As if glaring at it will make it go away.
She'll take her stale coffee to the living room. Instead of going back to bed only to wake up and go through the above process twice in one morning, she'll snuggle with the adorable shih tzu and listen to a very awake Beth Moore imploring women to be confident and courageous. Halfway through, her half naked children will descend upon her expressing their chronic hunger for that magically delicious cereal. She will pour the cereal and the milk and strategically place them between stacks of clean clothes. She will make it very clear that they WILL NOT get cereal and milk on the clothes.
While they are eating and listening to scripture on her smart phone, she'll frantically straighten up the school room to prepare for the second to the last day of "official" lessons. She has done nothing to improve her appearance since she left her room at 5 a.m. And she smells kind of funny. Nevertheless, just two more days of lessons.
She'll survive the morning. The oldest one will whine about her seat work until headphones are popped on her ears and she can hum through it all. The middle one will prove yet again he has surprisingly stellar handwriting skills. The littlest one will run around, sometimes listening, sometimes not--all the while succeeding in wearing three completely different outfits in as many hours. The puppy will pee on a blanket.
The kitchen is finally getting cleaned when her husband--who is working from home and bearing witness--will tell her one of his team will stop by for a meeting. In the house. The messy house. With the messy, stinky wife. She stops all work to don a bra, make-up, and grown up clothes. And deodorant. Then she'll get back to work.
By 11 o'clock the kitchen is clean, the laundry stacks have gotten one load higher, and she's starving. She'll start preparing lunch for her husband and his guy, and she'll have the bright idea to have a backyard picnic. Her oldest hostess will happily help her get things in order, and after not too much work the men are fed and the picnic is ready. She'll carry her pee-happy puppy in one hand with a Dr. Pepper and a glass of ice in the other. When she sets down her glass he will knock it over onto the grass which has served as his urinal for the last four weeks. She'll leash him up out of reach and get clean ice. Her three children waiting.
She'll finally sit down and pour the blessed, caffeinated liquid and remember that she forgot books. She'll send her oldest in to pick out the very best ones, which proves to be a task for all three. However, the littlest one will pout about something and have to be retrieved by a grown up. When all four are finally sitting down with drink, food, and books to enjoy, the oldest will hold up a hand and foot covered in the puppy's poop. The mess that makes everyone cringe will be expediently cleaned and all involved parties thoroughly sanitized.
Finally, mother and children will sit on their clean blankets with their clean food and clean hands. The middlest and littlest ones will pray their sweet prayers, and she'll wonder when they'll tell them that the friend they're praying for didn't make it out of Syria.
Alas...for now, they eat good food and read good books. And that is one dang, good Dr. Pepper. The littlest one will keep spilling the contents of her Bean Salad Wrap. Most of the beans will be salvageable, but one chick pea in particular is not. Sitting facing her mother the little one will attempt to throw it over her back for the birds to peck from the yard. Instead it will flop two feet in front of her. Directly in her mother's Dr. Pepper. Her head will drop, and she'll immediately realize she has won a hundred tiny victories in only seven hours.
In these seven, absurd hours she has not yelled at anyone. She has not thought hateful things about her husband. She has not felt sorry for herself or doled out the typical round of mental self-battering. For the most part, she's gone with the flow and done the best she can with what she's got. Her kids' feet are dirty, the house is still a wreck, and that deodorant isn't going to make it through the day. But she is basking in a new and unusual sensation: to laugh at the days to come. And, oh it is so fleeting, she knows it is. A day like this can still undo her before she realizes it has.
But it hasn't today. And that dear friends is a victory.
