Well! I think we've had enough of the heavy topics now, don't you think? Moving on...
This morning was another time of hilarity in my house. It started off with the children jumping around our bed at around 5:45 a.m. This has become their routine. Throughout the night, all three children will eventually migrate to our bed, and then around 5:45, one of them - usually Matthew - wakes up and starts banging around. Pretty soon Joshua is up, and they jabber away at each other while experimenting with how often they can pull my hair until I growl at them. At some point, all this nonsense wakes up Anna, who yells at them for waking her up. My husband and I play the "maybe if I act like I am so zonked I can't hear them my spouse will take them out of here" game till around 6:15 or so, at which point one of us caves and ushers them all the to the living room, leaving the other one with a satisfactory extra 5-10 minutes of blissful, quiet snooze time.
This morning, I lost the game. It's ok - I've won the past two mornings. It was my turn.
Breakfast was fairly uneventful, although Anna did have a traumatizing moment when she realized she had spilled milk on her giraffe. Mommy and a dishrag saved the day.
No, the real fun can about ten minutes later when we were all getting dressed. I was trying to get clothes on in my room when I heard Anna holler "MOM! I CAN'T REACH MY SHIRT!"
Considering I'd left her shirt folded on the couch for her, I thought this statement was a tad peculiar, so I headed out to the living room and found Anna, stripped to her underwear, dangling over the back of the couch trying to reach her shirt.
"Anna, what's wrong?"
"I can't reach my shirt behind the couch."
"Why is your shirt behind the couch, Anna?"
"Well, I accidentally threw it."
Accidentally? How do you accidentally throw something? Accidentally drop it, sure, but throw it? Hmmm.
Anyway, I retrieved the shirt and we went on with the morning. This particular morning, Joshua had to dress in jeans and a cowboy hat for a music program at school. Matthew immediately confiscated the hat and proceeded to run around the house yelling "YEE-HAW! I'M BUZZ LIGHTYEAR!"
Right movie. Wrong character.
We were just almost ready to go when Joshua let out a scream. Not a I'm-not-getting-what-I-want scream, a I-am-really-hurt-get-to-me-quick scream. Sean and I rushed over to him to discover his thumb turning purple. Apparently, Anna had pulled out a rather large Rocko (yes, Rocko is still alive and well) and had been playing with it when she dropped it to the ground...or, rather, on Joshua's thumb. She started crying as well because she'd hurt Joshua and didn't mean to. Sean and I each had our arms wrapped around a child, comforting and soothing, when here comes Buzz Lightyear, still wearing the hat. Mr. "Me Too!" decided that if there was hugging and attention going around, then by golly, he ought to be a part of things, so he wriggled his tiny but sturdy frame in between Joshua and me and began demanding a hug. I hugged him quick and sent him to his father while I assessed the thumb. It wasn't bad, but it did need ice, so I got Joshua all set up with that and kissed his thumb to make it better in the process. Matthew saw this and ran over to insist I kiss his thumb as well. Whatever.
After all thumbs were iced and kissed and all tears wiped away, we headed out the door for the day.
About 10 minutes late.
But everyone got out the door, everyone got where they needed to be, and no one wound up in the ER. Or shirtless. And Matthew gave the hat back to Joshua before heading into daycare.
Some mornings, that's really all you can ask for.