Last week I had one of those days where everything felt monumental, even when I knew deep down that it wasn’t.
I’m sure you know what I mean.
It felt like a “bad” day—even though so many people in my life are suffering genuine trials right now—because of all these tiny little things that kept adding up. A broken dish, food spilled on the floor, stubbing my toe on the dang bouncy seat again, missed an important phone call, a diaper blowout, a messier-than-usual house, and—you’ll love this—urine on my face. Yeah.
Ryan walked in the door and gave us each a hug.
“Dinner’s ready,” I said two times. Nobody heard me the first time. It’s always a little loud when Daddy first gets home.
Everybody clamored for their water cups and took their seats and then Ryan asked, “So. How was your day?”
He was talking to me.
Before I could give a reply that would undoubtedly have been negative, my son jumped in.
“Pretty great! We was playin’ superheroes and we read a new book! It’s a library book. Wanna see it? And we got Larabars for snacks! And we was playin’ animals outside. Me and Mommy was lions!”
So. My “bad” day was his “great” day.
I can live with that.