One of those days, and... the Winner is...!
It's almost time to get the supper on, I say to myself. (Yes, the rhythm of my days is very much dictated not only by what time we eat, but also what time I begin to prepare our next meal or snack.) But being the organized housewife I am, I recall that I have a batch of spaghetti sauce and leftover salad in the fridge. Hmm, this frees up a few extra minutes! Why not call my mom and see how her day was?
We talk for about twenty minutes. Baby is asleep in his bouncy seat, toddler is playing peacefully in the next room. I'm feeling pretty great about life.
It's time to get off the phone, heat up the sauce and boil the pasta. I go to the fridge only to discover... there is no sauce there. It's in the freezer! How could I have forgotten to take it out of the freezer?
I quickly decide to mince some garlic and saute it. With olive oil and lemon juice, it makes decent accompaniment to pasta, although not nearly as filling and enjoyable as meaty spaghetti sauce.
Whew, crisis averted.
Until...
the baby spits up on himself as he wakes, making him wail. I go to him and pick him up. No more tears. Whew...
Until...
I hear a two year old now in the kitchen, saying "uh oh." He has stripped off his pants and his soiled diaper.
I put the baby back down. He wails again. I run to the two year old, take the soiled diaper and toss it away (yes, yes, he's wearing a disposable. Such is my life sometimes these days.). I wipe him up, wipe up the mess that collected on the kitchen floor, and run to find him another diaper.
Meanwhile,
the pasta pot is boiling over. The baby is still howling.
And did I mention my kitchen was a mess? Did I really choose to spend twenty minutes on the phone RIGHT before supper?
I realize I forgot to make garlic bread. Which reminds me that the garlic I had sauteed has started to burn. I run back to the stove and remove the garlic dressing from the burner. Baby continues to wail.
(I can't exactly pick him up and put him in the sling as the next thing I need to do is drain the boiling pasta.)
The pasta is now drained. I go a pour some olive oil into a bowl. Even without garlic bread, we can dip the leftover baguette into some olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
Except that...
I discover we're out of balsamic vinegar. I make the executive decision to put red wine vinegar into the bowl. It at least smells similar, so hopefully it will taste similar too. I scoop up the baby, put the bowl on the table and try and get the cutlery to get Noah to "help" set the table.
He's being awfully quiet, I think. I turn around and notice that bowl of olive oil and vinegar is in his arm's reach. It take it away from him before something messy occurs.
Putting it down on the counter, I reach for a piece of paper towel to wipe up the baby (who has spit up again, and I'm now too frazzled to dash to the next room to get a receiving blanket) only to knock over the olive oil bowl. It pours all over the counter and starts to drip onto the floor.
I sigh. Do I have to clean this mess up, too, with our supper hot but quickly becoming not-so-hot?
Suddenly I shout "Patrick!" Supper's ready, in that, there is food to eat. Not a very well executed dinner, mind you. And I'm certainly not a glowing 1950's housewife -- applying a fresh coat of lipstick while the delicious three course meal waits on the beautifully set table as he walks in from a long day's work.
I don't even own lipstick.
He comes in the kitchen takes the baby from me. We sit down. We say grace. I pause after the prayer to simply thank God one more time that we're together and it's not so bad after all.
"The whole pleasure of marriage is that it is a perpetual crisis."
G.K. Chesterton
And, onto something wholly unrelated.
I got Patrick to draw the name from a bag (no fancy-schmancy random generator websites around here!) and the winner of the book giveaway is...
Claire!
If you could send your mailing info to spamjennaspamgannonspam@spamhotmail.spamcom (just scrape off the spam), then I'll get the book to you right away!
And to the others who entered, I'll do another one before Christmas, so try then!
I once heard Fr. Hattie give a funny definition of purgatory that I have never forgotten. Picture the situation you just described but add a ringing doorbell. Purgatory for a man is that he would have to handle every one of those problems; whereas purgatory for a woman is that she would not be allowed to do anything. I have never forgotten that illustration.
ReplyDeleteOK, one more thing. I have had countless days like that but the funniest ones are when I pull out the wrong meat from the freezer (they are all wrapped in butcher's paper). More times than I care to count, I have opened the 'ground beef' around which the entire dinner is organized only to discover that the odd shape of that pound of hamburger is caused by it being a neck - yes, a neck. What, really, can one do with a neck in a hurry other than call Pizza Pizza?
ReplyDeleteJenna, I feel like I average one of those days per week. (Though, thankfully, in 3.5 years of parenting I've so far never had a child remove their own diaper, soiled or otherwise!) On days like that, I remind myself that even the lousy, crazy days only have 24 hours, just like all the others.
ReplyDeleteElena, I love Father H's illustration of purgatory! Classic. Also, I can guarantee that of ALL the crazy days I've ever had, none of them have ever involved pulling a neck out of the freezer. You get the prize for that one.
(By the way, what would one do with a neck if one wasn't in a hurry? And, dare I ask, what sort of a neck was it?)
Thank you, Jenna (and Patrick), for the winning draw!
ReplyDeleteWhat a day . . . lifeandrhythm's wisdom might be hard to see in the first moment of the last "until..."; but what a great perspective! Perhaps another view is to see the day as helping me see the blessings of the "normal" days (don't know that I ever could define "normal"). And, thankfully, none of my days ever involved trying to make dinner with a thawed neck or a child removing diaper either!
To everyone, have a blessed weekend!
Oh Jenna, how I know what those days are like. Today, with little Jeremiah down with the flu it was a surprise barf (after he had too hurriedly eaten some applesauce for breakfast). As I went to deal with that, with more coming up from his little belly, my potty-training Genevieve has a poop accident in her underwear! Which do we deal with first? Those are the moments of greatness for us as mothers, when we offer a quick glance heavenward, or a Hail Mary if we're able and ask for the peace that only the Lord can give. I thought I handled it pretty well as I ran a bath, and threw another load of laundry in the machine. Later, however, Madeleine told me that I was grumpy. Oh well, we do our best and that's what counts.
ReplyDeleteLove that Chesterton quote. I think I need to put that on the fridge.
Elena, your neck comment makes me happier than I can say. How very Weston Price of you, to have NECKS in your freezer! And how very real of you to call Pizza Pizza in the midst of a neck & dinner crisis!
ReplyDeleteOh and Erin, your barf/potty-training scenario is precisely why I'm not potty-training Noah right now! Even though I know he's ready, my sanity can only handle so much at once.
(Also, Jaclyn aka lifeandrhythm aka my sister, I don't know what Elena uses necks for, or what creature from whence they came, but I buy turkey necks and they make stellar soup stock. Hope that helps.)
I just finished reading this post aloud to Jeff and we hooted and hawed and quickly realized that this is what is in store for us in two short months. An 18 month old Ethan and a newborn to challenge my dinner making!
ReplyDeleteJeff was surprised that you didn't call for Patrick - I said that you're probably much better than I at leaving him alone to work than I am when Jeff is working from home.
You're doing a great job, mama!
Jac, The neck is still unused but, as Jenna said, would be used for stock. I just remembered that I also once dethawed a calf heart thinking that it was ground beef - that really necessitated delivery pizza. When one's neck and heart are melting, call Pizza Pizza. Sorry, way too cheesy ... oh no, it's getting worse.
ReplyDelete