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I worked really hard this week.

I figured if I put in a little extra time each day this week that I could spend the day, today, doing a little shopping.  I would take this morning off.  It’s been quite a while since I’ve been out.

But, then.

Last night, William came home from basketball practice at 9:30, shivering and freezing and head hurting.  And I knew that instead of shopping, I would be here with him today, watching movies and Spongebob and Good Luck Charlie, and sipping Ginger Ale.  

It was hard to not feel frustrated until I saw his little shivering face.  As quickly as those feelings of frustration arose, they acquiesced.

Then there was this morning.

You know that sound a dog makes when it is barfing?  Yeah.  We heard that at 3:00am.

And at 4:30am.

At 5:00am one of the children woke up hungry.  Only I think it was not hunger.  I think it was that ache you get before you barf.

At 5:30am, another child wanted to climb into bed with us.  We said no, because we could still squeak out 45 minutes of sleep.  But not with her in our bed because she fidgets, and kicks off the covers, and chatters.

At 5:48am, she needs a tissue.  Then she blew her nose and it was seriously the cutest nose-blowing sound that I’ve ever heard.

Then at 5:55am one of the children wakes up with a wet bed.  We haven’t had a wet bed in, like, two years.

At this point, I throw in the towel and just get up.  I will have to cancel dinner plans for Saturday because of the barf.  And the boys’ basketball games…I wonder if William will be able to play…

I make the coffee.  I make the kids’ lunches.  It is 6:30 and three children are already up.  One sipping Ginger Ale, one making his own bagel, one sitting patiently with messy hair and her jelly cat, waiting for me to make her breakfast.

This is life.

The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley,
And lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain
For promised joy! — Robert Burns

Yes.  The best laid plans.

David and I get the kids off to school.  I watch from the window as Kate walks to the bus stop.  It is not okay for me to walk with her now that she is in middle school.  So I watch from the window.  I wait until she is there, with her friends, and then I tell her I love her as the big yellow bus pulls away with her.  After 6 years of watching the bus drive off with my heart held captive inside, I still ache every time.

It is gray this morning.  I think they’re calling for flurries.  The trees are bare, scrawny and gray.  Even still, I can see the buds beginning to bulge from slender branches.  It won’t be long now before that spring green hue is cast over the woods, dotted with white dogwood and magenta redbud flowers, and spring beauties emerge from the russet-brown earth.  March.  March is when the spring beauties come.  But today it is February.  Today it is cold.

Inside, the fire is burning.  Poppy sprawls next to it.  Next to freaking out over the squirrels, I think it is her favorite thing to do…sleep by the fire.  The washer is washing, and I’ve put on another pot of coffee.  William wants quiet…he doesn’t want to watch anything that has food in it, he is so horribly nauseous.

There is an enormous pile of laundry to fold, which seems to be growing by the hour.  The floors need cleaning, the furniture needs dusting, there is a large water spot on our carpet downstairs that I should try to clean.  And there is a boy that needs lovins.  I think somehow this might be an even better way to spend the day, if only it wasn’t at the expense of Little Bill.

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