Wednesdays

In our house, Wednesdays are the chaos days. The ones where there are toddler-sized trucks and cars all over the floor, blocks under the couch and a half-eaten waffle still on the kitchen counter from breakfast.

In our house, Wednesdays are the tired days. The ones where you think, it’s fine to let him watch another TV show if it means I can lie on this couch for the entire 18-minutes of a Chuggington episode.

In our house, Wednesdays are the running-5-minutes-behind days. The ones where you bring him to his grandmother’s house in his pajamas and you throw a granola bar in your bag even though you swore you’d stop eating granola bars because you know a banana and some almonds are better for you, anyway.

In our house, Wednesdays are the no-cooking days. The ones where a Target run turns into a Barnes and Nobles run turns into a Babies R Us run turns into an oops, it’s 7pm, so how does that burger place down the street sound?

In our house, Wednesdays are the laundry-piling-up days, the early morning workout days, the chipped nail polish days.

In our house, Wednesdays are the days where we’re in it. Where we’re knee-deep in this everyday life part of it. The ordinary and in-between. Where we don’t know whether we’re coming or going and our to-do lists are leaning more towards the glass-half-empty side.

In our house, Wednesdays are the days where we'll just get by, and we’ll be all the better for it.

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