Today I scraped up the gelatinous remains of 13 Swedish fish from the table, floor, and leather armchair.
Today I picked up 37 Pull-ups that the baby tossed from the closet upstairs over the landing and into the entryway.
Today I went hunting in the neighborhood for my son who went missing. I found him in a neighbor’s backyard and coaxed him home to eat dinner.
I took two of my boys to a swimming lesson for children with special needs, part of a week-long series of lessons organized by the son of a friend for his Eagle Scout project.
I drove the guys to Target where a certain child got to choose a prize for doing a deuce in the toilet (awwww yeeeeeeah), because this was a big deal and the reward needed to be memorable.
I broke up several loud skirmishes between my children. In these waning summer days, our house is more and more Lord of the Flies-ish.
Every time I sat down today, a big, jolly, sensory-seeking son sat on my lap and asked for “tickles.” He is 85 pounds of elbows, knees, and boney bum. A real meat-tenderizer.
Today I spent way too much time online, because it’s easy to do on a smartphone and because sometimes the brain starts to wither from too many sticky Swedish fish and shrieking people.
I cleaned up a Code Brown from a different son who didn’t get the memo about potty = Target prizes.
I opened an envelope this afternoon containing a packet of forms to fill out for Jack’s school, which commences less than two weeks from today.
I considered how each August I find hope in the signs of school resuming and our lives turning less heathen. I also pondered how we must always first descend into a canyon of misery that is the end of summer.
Today I spoke to my mother on the phone, who asked me how things were going today with the guys. When I sneered “fine,” she knew better.
I looked up all the upcoming movies to see what there is to look forward to, and the answer is: nothing. At least until November, when a bunch a good stuff rolls out. One bright spot later this month—Austenland, based on a funny book by Shannon Hale.
I mopped up 8 puddles created by the littlest boy, who thinks he should drink from a big-person cup like everybody else. One-year-olds have such sass.
I cracked open the box of road trip car kits which we assembled for the boys prior to our family vacation in June, and which we promptly left behind in the garage. Jack was mighty pleased with his crinkly packages and crappy dollar-store toys.
Today happened, and then it ended, which is sometimes the nicest part of a day.