Just Chuck It Down the Stairs

While Marguerite was napping (her 45 minute tantrum prompted by me reminding her that riding in her carseat was not optional really wore her out) G said, "Mom, I've got the best idea.  Let's organize my toys!"  Huh, I thought.  This is a first.  G taking the initiative on cleaning her room.  I'm in.

We started off congenial enough, having fun even, while dumping out basket after basket of miscellaneous out of the toy closet and on to the floor.  A Goodwill basket, a recycle basket, a garbage box.  We dove in and started sorting.  Then G declared organizing to be "gross and the dumbest thing ever" and decided to brush and braid her doll's hair instead.

There I was.  Stuck in a tsunami of kid crap.  Saddled with a personality that has to finish what she starts.  Next thing you know it's 6 p.m., I haven't started dinner yet and Marguerite is waking up from her slumber picking up where she left off with her grumpy pants on. 

Somehow I pushed through, stabilized Marguerite, and got dinner on the table.  While Drew was getting the girls into the tub I did one last sweep through their room and grabbed an unrealistically large armload of cast offs to bring downstairs.  I tripped on my way down, thankfully didn't fall, but instead chucked my armload down the stairs.

I stopped myself from curling up in the fetal position and declaring my day disastrous and futile and took a picture instead.  Deep breath.  Walk around the block.  Remember to laugh.  There's always room for levity.