Today

Part of me can't believe it's only Thursday and the other part is still hung up on the somewhat weird fact of Will going to actual school, like the little model citizen he seems to be while he's there. So the small part of me that is left to go on about the business of our regular nice little life, like writing this, is kind of in some sort of strange, distracted state that involves lots of lists and starting one thing only to realize that x, y, and z have to be finished before p, q, and r can even be begun. That probably makes no sense whatsoever but this is an accurate representation of my current mental faculties.

For instance, I spent all of Will's time at school yesterday morning turning every storage space in our entire house upside down and inside out on a quest to locate Will's big boy bedding. I found the rug downstairs in the storage space under the stairs but couldn't find the quilts and sheets and duvet covers and shams and so forth and onward and upward gee whiz (Dr. Seuss comes in handy in a surprising number of settings and situations). To make a long, basically pointless story short, it's all in storage containers in my parents' attic. Two hours of frantic searching all for naught. Two hours that would've otherwise been spent organizing kitchen cabinets and drawers . . . although now that I think of it, cleaning out the kitchen drawers and making a mess of our closets and storage areas are about dead even in the race of least desirable chore on the long list of things to do.

(Speaking of lists, I'm not sure how many Frog and Toad fans there are out there, but there is one story that I think is hilarious. Toad gets up, makes a long list of things [starting with "wake up" which he immediately crosses off] that he's going to do that day, and goes over to Frog's to share with him the activities he has  planned. The next item after "go to Frog's" is "go for walk with Frog." While on the walk, the list is blown away by a gust of wind and when Frog urges Toad to run after it with him, he says that he can't because it isn't on his list of things to do. Instead, he sits down and lets Frog chase after it. The list is lost and Frog and Toad sit together doing nothing all day, Toad paralyzed by the resulting inertia of losing his list. Finally, when it is getting dark, Frog suggests they go to sleep. Toad remembers joyfully that this was in fact the final item on his list and writes "go to sleep" in the dirt with a stick. He crosses it off and they go to sleep. I completely identify with Toad.)

( I bet no one saw a long-winded recap of a children's story coming, did they? I like to keep you guessing . . . In any case, Will and I enthusiastically recommend any stories in the Frog and Toad series.)

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Yes, I have become that person who uses asterisks to delineate my convoluted train of thought.

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Will and I went to the doctor this morning for me to receive my Tdap shot (whooping cough, no thanks) and when it was time to leave he laid down in the waiting room floor shouting "I want to play!" for everyone in a five mile radius to hear. Then he spent the five minutes we were at Kroger ramming my bare heels with his kid-sized buggy while we got the two items we were there for.

We came home to discover Laura asleep with Daddy in our bed, but Laura's blissful little nap came to an end when she was placed in her crib to complete it as Daddy had to go to work. She spent the next forty five minutes screaming.

Daddy left the bathroom door open (a BIG no-no around here) when he left. I found Will in the bathroom brushing his teeth with approximately half a tube of toothpaste five minutes later. (If it's not already obvious to you, women are the sole carriers of the Common Sense gene.)

Will then decided to toss my phone forcefully across the living room. I lost my patience and scolded him. Loudly.

"Don't yell, Mommy," Will said mournfully. "Baby Sister is sleeping."

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Fast forward five minutes to Will tossing my phone on the couch directly at my face (I alternate between thinking he's a smart kid with thinking he's mentally impaired, and then sometimes I remember his lack of Common Sense gene). When I try to reprimand him, he attempts to run away. I grab his arm and try to get up from the couch to deal with him. He falls on his prized "newspaper" (a free circular I picked up for him at the store) opened to a map of the area. Maps are his current obsession. His fall on top of his newspaper results in a small tear on one page of the map.

He looks at me with with the saddest face imaginable, big shiny tears in his eyes and says, "Look what you did to my map."

I feel like I am two inches tall.

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I spend a lot of time worrying about the kind of kid I'm raising Will to be. Maybe I should spend more of that time worrying about the kind of parent I am.

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We agree to start our day over. The morning doesn't exist as far as we're concerned.

Will goes to the front porch and brings the mail back to the deck where I'm typing this.

"Scoos me," he says. "Can I sit next to you?"

We look at a toy catalog together.

All is forgiven. So forth and onward and upward, gee whiz.