(Un) Labor Day

A fun run-down of my morning:

At seven a.m. I remembered the cinnamon rolls I accidently left on the counter to rise last night. By seven-fifteen I had smooshed all their doughy-smelling-goodness back into the pan enough to cook them. At seven-thirty my youngest child awoke crying–with the biggest splinter in the history of splinters wedged into the heel of her foot. And since it had been stuck in there overnight, it wasn’t looking too pretty. By eight a.m. I’d been trying twenty minutes to remove it.

We took a break. And ate cinnamon rolls. Very large cinnamon rolls, but still surprisingly good considering I had made them with flour, a packet of yeast, and some other stuff I can’t remember.

Thirty minutes later and we were once again tackling the splinter. By nine a.m. my little girl was crying. By nine-o-five I was crying. By nine-fifteen, my older daughter made an appearance, my youngest son was yelling, and both of them wound up slap-fighting behind me.

What was happening back there?

By nine-thirty my husband walked in from his relaxing jog (grrr…) and headed for the shower. Then he sat down to eat. Around ten-ish, my oldest son called to say he would be home around twelve–and “oh could you please wash my running clothes for school tomorrow?” So I took a break to toss in a load of clothes, listening to my daugher loudly crying from the kitchen chair.

Finished, I sat down once again to tackle the spliter, which was no simple task considering my daughter was still crying…and now kicking me in the face.

By ten-thirty I yanked it out, slapped a band-aid on it, and sent her outside with her older sister and brother. Meanwhile, I tossed back a third cup of coffee…listening to the pleasant sounds of my children fighting in the backyard.

Happy Labor Day!

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