Midnight

Well. 

My day started off slowly enough with a wake-up call from my daughter at 8:05 a.m. (“Mommy!  Mommy!”), followed by my habitual old-fashioned oatmeal breakfast, laundry rituals, washing of dishes, preschoolers painting, school-at-homers huddling over spelling books . . . you know, a typical morning.  (Minus or plus a stinky diaper and four phone calls.)

And nap time was sort of quiet, though the neighbor boys came over and everyone promptly began to bicker–if you think hearing your own kids bicker makes you want to stab your eardrums with chopsticks, imagine listening to the neighbor kids bicker.  The kids all wandered outdoors and for a while there, it was blissfully quiet.  Even though the 18-month old woke up.

And then the kids went home, all of them, except my 8-year old son’s best friend.  We took him with us to the craft store.  (I needed to buy t-shirts for VBS and they were on sale for $2.50 a piece.  You haven’t lived until you try to get in and out of a craft store with five kids trailing behind you while you attempt to avoid the aisles that look inviting to a 3-year old–fat chance!  Having that many kids in a store must be what it’s like to be an octopus without good motor control.)

Then, to the pool.  We returned home at 8:15 p.m. . . . and by 9:00 p.m., my daughter was in bed.

And then I went to my mom’s apartment to change a light bulb for her.  We sat and chit-chatted and soon it was 10:45 p.m. 

That’s why I’m writing this at midnight.  It’s as if the day was perched on a hill and once it got started rolling downward, it just picked up speed.

I am going to be so sorry for this late night in the morning.  Then I will repent of typing at midnight, though I will abandon my repentance as the day wears on and as Diet Coke begins to course through my veins.  That’s just the kind of girl I am.