Irish Daisy

Well, it finally happened. It took 10 years and three kids, and since the youngest is four and a half, I was hoping it never would, but it did, and it broke my heart just a little. We were getting ready to start our day Monday morning. Everyone was getting dressed, brushing hair, slathering sunblock – the usual morning stuff. In a calm and cheery voice I reminded my half-naked youngest daughter, “Hey cutie, we need to put pants on so we can go have breakfast.” She could see me in the reflection of the floor-length mirrored closet door from where she lay in the middle of the bathroom. Instantly, her mouth curved into a grumpy badger frown, “no.” “Yep, we need pants for school. No nekkie kids allowed!” And then she did it – she leapt to her feet, scooped up the pants, gathered her righteous preschooler anger and stabbed me in the heart.  “I hate you, you’re stupid!” punctuated with throwing her pants at me and fleeing the room. Hating the morning I knew s...

Not just any broken shoe - my favorite brown heels. I've had them for five years and I love them. They are unique and I've never seen another pair I like half as much. And so it began...the broken strap on my favorite pair of shoes was the irritating harbinger of one-of-those days. I was yelling at Athena, always a slow mover in the morning, to get up and get dressed, and at the other two to move it, get downstairs and eat breakfast. I plopped down to throw on my shoes and the damn strap is broken. I gave myself 30 seconds to feel bad about the sad demise of my favorite shoes, then tossed them next to the trash can and ran for the closet to get a different pair. But the other pair of shoes didn't work with the shirt I was wearing, so I had to find a new top too. Few extra minutes, no big deal, right? This was just the beginning, just the first tiny bump in a row of irritating stumbles that made me want to raise a white flag before noon even arrived, and surrender to the...