Perhaps the cuteness will remind me,
how very worth it it all really is.
My garage door opener is not working. Big deal. It's probably the battery in the stupid thing, and changing it will likely fix the problem. And in normal world Patric is in town and he can run to the store for a new 9-volt because with all of the batteries in this house you'd think we'd have a 9-volt, but really who actually keeps 9-volt batteries around any more? But Patric has been out of town for the past seven days except for the three hours I saw him Sunday evening.
So use the front door to get in the house sweetheart. Really, how hard is this?
At the end of the day, in the cold and near dark when we roll up to the house, the following takes place:
"Okay, home now!" The boys unbuckle and leap to the front of the van to start digging around in the front seats looking for candy while I unbuckle a baby. Meanwhile, baby number two has taken offence to being second unbuckled and starts screaming in protest. We're already tired, wired, and hungry.
"When we get inside."
And a tantrum ensues while I set down baby number one to unbuckle baby number two. When the garage door is up they know to head to the inside door. When the garage door is down, confusion sets in. Baby one has taken off across the wet yard. Pre-schooler two is screaming for apple juice. And pre-schooler one has taken off laughing maniacally toward the neighbor's. Yes, I'm herding cats. And meanwhile the race to drive through our neighborhood as fast as you can has begun by all of our neighbors and various other people who are probably just wanting to drive by the mayhem house.
So stop and get a battery on your way home from work dear. Really, how hard is that? Do you think the children will melt waiting five extra minutes at daycare?
Nope. I don't think they'll melt.
Here's the deal on that. When he is out of town, they are left at daycare later anyway. My boss probably also notices that I slip out of the office a little earlier as well. That is so I can race home and fill the car with gas; so I can turn on the Christmas tree lights before the boys get their hands on the cord; so that I can get dinner started as much as possible because when we all get there it is loud to put it mildly; so that I can dump the work clothes and put on something that can also serve as a Kleenex; so that I can pick up the sour milk cups that were left laying out in the morning as we all five went through the mayhem of the morning load; and if I am really lucky, it is so that I can lay out their clothes for tomorrow before four people follow me into their closet to play dress up. In the list of 5 million things I need to get done in that extra 30 minutes that I already leave them at daycare, stopping for a battery generally hits low on the priority list if I even remember it at all before I am pulling in the driveway and cursing it.
Tonight I am not even going to attempt to pick up the lower half of the Christmas tree decorations that I found three of them flinging off the tree this morning while I dressed the fourth.
And then I read about Cooper, and I feel like a heel for thinking that my garage door is any sort of a problem to be writing about. Because really, it's not.