I like to think that each and every day is special. But some days, you know? They’re just more “special” than others. Like when I gave up 4 hours of my life to wait for Salvation Army to blow me off. That was special. See what I mean?
So here’s a little index about today, just because I rather enjoy writing in index form. It shakes things up. And shaking things up? Now that’s special!
35: The number of colorful M&M’s I put in a clear container way up high in the bathroom for Lyle to admire as he sat on the potty.
120: The number of minutes spent sitting on the cold bathroom floor over the course of the day reading “Froggy’s First Kiss” (what a bizarre choice for a 2-year old to make), two large Richard Scarry books, and “Eight Silly Monkeys” over and over while said 2-year old attempts to produce something in his potty. Mostly because he wants one of those M&M’s.
2: The number of tears that welled up in my eyes when my little dog figurine asked Lyle how old he was: “I’m two and a half. And Baxter’s six!” he added. “Oh, who’s Baxter?” asked the dog. He thought about it and finally said, “My friend.”
10: The number of seconds that Lyle laid in his bed at nap time before hopping up, declaring, “We better open dat door, get some fresh air in here,” and then made a break for it into the playroom.
45: The length of time – in minutes – of Lyle’s nap before I had to wake him up to go pick up his brother from school.
45: The length of time – in minutes – that he cried about being woken up too early. (Perhaps if he hadn’t been so worried about FRESH AIR he would have gotten more sleep. Ahem.)
3: The number of plays of the Sesame Street CD that I had to endure. We had to be in the car waaay too much today.
140: Minutes in the car logged.
80: Percentage of that time spent on lovely Ashland Avenue. Ugh.
1: The number of text messages I sent to Matt in desperation that read: “I NEED A MINIVAN!!!” after trying to squeeze three children in the back of our station wagon (with each in a car seat or booster). I had to jam them in their seats closer and closer together until each of us had either scratched or pinched a finger. No joke. I love our Subaru but let me tell you: there is really no solution to our carpooling situation that does not start with the word “mini” and end in the word “van”. And yes, this is from the woman who once bet friends back in 2000 that if she ever bought a minivan she’d pay them $100,000. Thanks to that bet, it’s going to be one pricey vehicle for us, but worth every penny. (Note to the Smalls: the Talls are going to have to write you a BIG check soon.)