Some weeks are better than others. This week was one of the others. Some days you wake up only to find that you slept in too long, your children don’t like that kind of cereal anymore, your hairdo is embarrassing, there are no clean dresses and your daughters refuse to wear pants, nobody likes you, you would much rather disappear behind a good book than play Candy Land, you’re not getting any younger, putting a bib on your child does not guarantee she won’t need a bath after her peanut butter sandwich, no matter how hard you try to keep the house clean it never is, you haven’t spent more than ten minutes alone with your husband all week, that closet where you shove everything is getting harder to ignore, you really should have gotten your BA, aphids are terrorizing your rose bushes, you haven’t taken an attractive picture in over a year, you are questioning all your life choices, feeling very negative about your goal to be more positive, and wondering why the EFF you still get zits. Yeah. Some days are kind of like that. Some weeks are like that too.
But then you recall that day you took the kids to the grocery store and, in a break from the traditional tantrum, they sang primary songs at the top of their lungs and made everyone in the store smile and comment, “I wish I was that happy.”
Sometimes its hard to remember that not all mornings are like this. Not all days are like this. Not all weeks are like this. And at the end of a week like this, while I’m tucking Brook and Avery into bed, I might say, “So it wasn’t a very good week huh?” and they’d probably respond with, “No.” And I’d say, “But I still love you, and I hope you still love me.” and they’d say, “We love you always.” and I would say, “And we’ll all do better next week?” and they’d say, “Yes.” and then I’d say, with all the conviction of a true optimist, “Word.”