A teething toddler sits at my table. Woke up all to early this morning due to daddy's non-graceful clunking around, getting ready for work. There's milk on the floor and peaches in hair, snot on the face and no doggies to clean up the mountain of crushed food on the floor that resembles something I've seen often after getting off a too fast carnival ride. What exactly is it that makes wiping her hands off a prerequisite for digging right back into the slimy leftovers she denied only seconds ago?
It's 9:34 but as wise ones have said before, "It's noon somewhere" and I'm sure their are moms elsewhere silently saying how much easier it would be to greet the days chores if a mimosa was in the opposite hand of the windex. My normally witty mind has given way to this...this...daily routine that feels more like prep to be an entertainer in the circus. Being a parent may be one of the hardest jobs you could ever do. Holding on to your own sanity could provide a very close runner up.
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