Today, I was having a particularly bad morning. Madison woke up way too early, my husband had forgotten to mention he had to go into work early, Dylan was being even more obstinate than usual, and Payten was trying to play Boss. I am behind on housework; so much so that in order to eat a meal, I’ll need to wash some dishes. Not that it matters, since we don’t have any food in the house to eat. I haven’t taken a shower in three days, and Madison is going on her third day with a high fever, and we really can’t afford for her to be sick right now.
So I was grumping around with a scowl on my face, having to really concentrate so as not to start throwing a Dylan-sized tantrum. I stubbed my toe on a kitchen chair, so I kicked it back. Which didn’t help. I yelled at the washer when I discovered that it had eaten one of Madison’s diapers. Which didn’t help. I banged my head into the refrigerator when I smelled that the milk had gone sour. Which didn’t help.
And I plopped down at my computer desk to rant about my terrible morning and found a wrinkled up note written in crayon:
And that helped.