I was just getting motivated to climb out of bed yesterday at 7 a.m. when Lydia poked her head in my bedroom. "Could I make soap out of bacon fat today?" That would be a "no."
Once out of bed, I suffered through several plank exercises. For the past five days Matt has had the whole family on a cross fit regimen. It's killer. Supposedly it's some sort of beginner level thing. I need the remedial version.
I headed downstairs to walk on the treadmill. When I came back up, I packed both Matt's and Grace's lunches (Grace started cosmetology school a few days ago.) Joel was in tears because he couldn't find a coat. I told him where to look for it (laundry, dresser, van).
I ate my breakfast, yelled for the kitchen helper to get going on the dishes, got Grace and Matt out the door and realized I would have to help the still despondent Joel find his coat. I looked through the dirty and clean laundry. I looked through all of his dresser drawers. No coat. I went downstairs and grabbed the size 8 box and dug through that. No coat. I again asked Joel, "Isn't that black hoodie still in the van?" "Yeah. It is. It's under Jude's seat."
I showered, answered and wrote a couple of emails and then went to dry my hair. Lydia came into my bathroom looking guilty. I just kept drying my hair. She fessed up. "I broke a glass jar outside." "Well, go clean it up," I said.
I finished drying my hair, walked out to the kitchen, completed the morning kitchen helper's unfinished work, sorted the laundry, picked up the piles of mittens and hats by the front door (cause it's in the 60s--mighty cold) and then Paul walked in. He informed me that he rappelled out of the second story window of the play house and it hadn't gone so well. I told him that he was teaching his younger brothers to do the same and he said that he didn't think they'd want to copy what he just did.
I walked back into the kitchen, where Lydia was filling a jar with water. The jar had black soot in it from the back yard fire pit. She saw me coming and began explaining. I didn't need an explanation. I know all too well how that child's mind works. "That's not how you make ink!" I said.
Then I saw Paul with a homemade tourniquet around his arm. His shirt was bloody. "Take off your shirt," I said. I proceeded to take off the tourniquet and get a proper bandage on his arm.
Next, the door bell rang. It was my friend. She stopped by to pick something up and we stood at the door and chatted for a bit (alright, maybe a long bit). After she left, Lydia announced that Paul's back was all scratched up.
I found Paul in his bedroom. He was changing his shirt for the second time. I asked, "Did you do that again?!" Brother. It's wasn't even lunch time yet.
And this morning, after my walk, I came up the stairs to find the kitchen abandoned except for the baby, who was standing on the tray of his high chair. We don't know how to start days off in a quiet manner around here.
