It Started with the Sausage

You know those moments?

The ones where you are like holy-shit-this-is-my-life-right-now?

Let's be honest, I have them on the regular.

But yesterdays, it started with a spatula.

I knew it was going to be one of those days because it is always one of those days.  The ones where the orchestra has to play together because otherwise it's all going to go to hell.  And to be honest, we're having more of those days lately than not.

And I was going to make breakfast because I was going to make breakfast because the plan was to make breakfast, and where was my damn favorite spatula.

As I posted on Facebook, it made me realize that I was "I have a favorite spatula years old."

I did a tick tock on a day in the life of the family a few years ago, and I always laughed when my colleagues with older kids said YOU HAVE NO IDEA.  But you guys, you have no idea.

Things get complicated and busier, and you just have to get better at what's going on.  Or choose not to and go with the flow.

You guys, I need a little more flow go.

In the span of eight hours, I found the damn spatula, cranked out a real breakfast, dropped the rest of the family at church, realized I still haven't delivered the promised breakfast to the new member small group, rejoiced at 20 found minutes and got gas at Costco, realized that I was in charge of soccer snack and ran into Costco for said snack with R with a goal of making it in and out in 13 minutes (we did), stopped and got some ibprofun at another place because his back was sore from 15 other hours of soccer that week, hit the portapotty, watched the rec baseball game for ten minutes because we were early (we always are), schlepped the team bench a quarter of a mile because I've got this and this is where we parked, called to get the girl a carpool to Scouts, checked in the team, sat in my blue chair for 55 minutes watching but not watching, ,kept some disgruntled soccer fans in check and raged at the bad sportsmanship of our opponents, took the kid to Chilis to introduce him to queso, left him asleep in the car when I dropped by the Girl Scouts meeting I was supposed to co-lead until I had to go back out to the car because I had a kid asleep in it, failed to deliver the news that I wasn't attending the camping trip this week, came home, declare it fishsticks and roasted broccoli night the kids are all getting over their Halloween hangover...

Thank goodness it wasn't a work day.  Don't get me started on travel soccer logistics.

And then Shawn, our designated slowdowner, slowed it down.

There wasn't laundry to fold (that'll be tonight and tomorrow).

There was Crazy Eights and War to be had, and I just couldn't click into it.

I sat with them, but on the sidelines.  We didn't set back the clocks and went with the fact it was almost 8pm and OMG you guys are so late for your bedtime. (ps, it was 645).

And here I was.  Between the spatula and the logistics, and sidelined for the joy.

I've admitted before I'm not the magical parent.  I'm never going to be.  I just don't have that gene.

I saw a Dad at ice skating last week kneel to his kid and look him in the eyes and he really connected.  He looked like he did.  And I was hustling to return the skates to get to a birthday party on time.

Am I losing the joy in the logistics and the finding of the damn spatula and what can I do about it?

For tonight, I rest in R thinking "Chilis is the best restaurant we have ever been to and can we do it again soon please?"

Knowing I've launched Annie into wanting to go on the camping trip alone next weekend to scrap at independence, and checking my guilt about not being there.

Watching James practice him capoeria moves and destroy his siblings in cards war?

Looking at this guy, watching that ten minutes of baseball and saying six hours later "Mama, did you see how the black team crushed that other team that inning, wasn't it awesome?"

My magic is logistics, and it was still awesome, dude.