I left work early, because I had three errands to run--all on different sides of town, and all completely inconvenient to either of the kids' daycares.
And I was already stewing as I drove. It had been a day of people being thoughtless and acting as if I should have psychic abilities, which I most certainly do not. I was frus-tra-ted.
And then, I picked up the Kid. He was immediately angry at me because I wouldn't tell him a story. It's something we often do in the car, but he'd lost the privilege by being disrespectful to his dada that morning. He thought I would have forgotten. I hadn't. Hence, conflict.
And then, in his pissed-ness, the Kid got tangled up in his seat belt getting out of the car to get Little Miss, and fell face first onto the parking lot pavement. My anger--such-as-it-was--melted as I immediately scooped him up onto the car hood for a hug and to check for injuries. He had scratched up his arm, but was basically fine, so--with him still sobbing and bleeding and me now thinking about sobbing--we headed in to get Little Miss.
But before we could even get in the door, her daycare director pulled me aside. A "friend" (we get so much joke-y mileage out of the irony of that at our house) in her new classroom had bitten her, again. Second damn day in a row, breaking the skin and leaving ugly marks. As I assured the director and her teacher: It happens, we know. Totally normal toddler thing, no one's fault.
But, as I headed home with my battered crew, it was hard not to grip my steering wheel and scream to the heavens, "Are you kidding me?!?"
I did not. Instead, I arrived home, Sweet Husband poured wine, and I pounded the hell out of a family of chicken thighs. The Kid screamed at me, yet again, as I rubbed antibiotic ointment on his arm. Little Miss shrilly demanded "Bites! BITES!!!" of food as I boiled pasta as fast as I could to feed her hungry tummy.
Seriously, I don't know if I'm conveying the full chaos, but it was all so ridiculously out of a movie that I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. Like, it's one of those nights I'm going to remember and laugh about, but would be happy if I never, ever, ever had to re-live, you know?
But then, in the five minutes between end-of-dinner and lets-rush-everyone-to-bed-before-anything-worse-happens, the Kid asked if we could pull out Little Miss's new R2D2 "bubble blaster".
It's a janky thing that I grabbed at Target on a whim and stuck in her Easter basket. It was only working about half the time, but that half magically coincided with Little Miss's delighted screams for "Bubbles! Bubbles!"
"The Easter Bunny got us a magical bubble blaster!" the Kid exclaimed, "It only makes bubbles when Little Miss tells it to."
"The Easter Bunny did a good job," Sweet Husband said, meeting my eyes meaningfully, as both kids squealed with happiness.
I grabbed my phone and shot both a photo and a video for good measure.
We are so in the thick of it right now. The hopeless jumble of raising two kids and a puppy and trying to be happy in our jobs and stay in love with one another....but we do have each other...and we have two great kids.
And we also have a magical f'ing Easter bunny. How lucky are we?