Friday Fiasco

Because apparently one good morning was all the universe was willing to give me.

We started off the morning marginally better, which, naturally, gave me a false sense of hope.

Things are going to be better than yesterday, I thought.

And in some ways… they actually were.

I got a FULL, HOT CUP OF COFFEE without interruption.

There were no 6:00 AM anatomy declarations being broadcast to the entire neighborhood.

The kids actually got up pretty well, considering the late bedtimes.

There were no arguments over Crocs versus sneakers because—hallelujah—THERE WAS NO GYM.

And car line?

The dreaded car line?

WENT AMAZING.

The school put a new accommodation in place, and for the first time in what feels like approximately 847 years, car line didn’t make me question every life decision that led me to that parking lot.

Then, the universe really showed me mercy.

I got a morning to myself.

I went to visit a friend and her adorable baby before picking up the older boys and heading into work for the afternoon.

At this point, I should have known better.

Because apparently, I had become overconfident.

I thought the day was going well.

And that was my first mistake.

Enter: The Dog Debate

On the ride into school, my five-year-old casually informed me that we need to get a dog.

Not asked.

Informed me.

I explained that our apartment is too small for a dog. Mommy works too much. The dog would spend too much time alone. The dog would be sad.

You know… all perfectly reasonable adult reasons why we cannot currently own a dog.

His response?

“Okay. Well then you just don’t need to work anymore and we can buy a house.”

Sir.

Excuse me?

I explained that, unfortunately, that’s not really how the world works.

You can’t exactly say, “I quit my job because my five-year-old wants a dog, so now we’re going to buy a house.”

This apparently offended him deeply.

And thus began a 15-minute meltdown.

Eventually, he informed me that he was just going to find somewhere else to live so he could have a dog.

Just like Otis.

For context, Otis is the support animal for our local police department.

So apparently my five-year-old has now decided that his future consists of leaving his mother, finding his own housing, and acquiring a police support dog.

Cool.

Very cool.

Eventually, I got him to calm down by telling him I would think about it.

Which, for the record, I am absolutely not thinking about it.

But what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?

And Then We Got to School

Naturally, once we arrived, he decided he wanted to run amok.

Then he was hungry.

Again.

Even though he had JUST eaten lunch.

Because apparently food follows a completely different set of rules in the mind of a five-year-old.

Eventually, I managed to wrangle him into the classroom and actually start my work.

And honestly?

Work was good.

Smooth.

Productive.

No major fires to put out.

I love when things go smoothly on the employment front. It gives me approximately seven minutes of peace before something else reminds me that I have children.

And Then There Was the Eight-Month-Old

Because, of course.

I checked in on my eight-month-old to see how his day was going.

And guess what?

He was fighting sleep.

Again.

Do you see where this is going?

He didn’t take an afternoon nap.

Again.

And because apparently his morning nap was feeling generous enough to only last an hour and a half, by the time we got home around 6:00 PM, this child had been awake for approximately SIX HOURS.

Six.

Hours.

At that point, he was not interested in sleep.

He was interested in making sure everyone knew that sleep was absolutely not on his agenda.

So once again, I spent the next 30 minutes begging, pleading, bargaining, and essentially petitioning the sleep gods to please, PLEASE come help my child.

And finally…

7:13 PM.

He was asleep.

How long will he stay asleep?

Nobody knows.

Could be an hour.

Could be three.

Could be until morning.

At this point, I’m not asking questions.

I’m simply grateful.

Because while he slept, I got dinner on the table for the older kids, washed bottles, unpacked backpacks, and managed to accomplish approximately 37 household tasks in the tiny window of opportunity provided by an exhausted infant.

And for the moment?

All is right in the chaos I call my life.

Tomorrow is another day.

And I have learned my lesson.

Never assume a good morning means you’re getting a good day.

Because apparently, the universe has jokes.

And five-year-olds want dogs.