When I was teaching, there were some hum-drum days that came and went with no remarkable events. There were others that just plain stank, and I repeated to myself and my minions ad nauseum, "Tomorrow is a whole, brand new day." Then, there were the days where I slammed it right outta the park. The lesson was spot on, I'd have a breakthrough with one of my more intense kids, a principal or two would be overheard singing my praises...
Mothering is exactly that, only the pluses and minuses (meandering thought- why not minusii? Hmmm...) happen to your own flesh and blood. There's no paycheck to work for, but there is the carriage of your genetic material onward to a surviving new generation, so it behooves Mommy not to screw up. So some days go on in one giant blur of diapers-food-naps-dog shenanegins-diapers-bedtime and before you know it, you're thinking, "It's Friday? Really?" Others, you're practically sprouting demure heels and buffed pearls from your feet and neck, respectively. You've had time to (get this) floss your teeth, and use the diffuser that came with the hair dryer. Developmentally appropriate activities are going well with the bambina, local and organic home-cooked four square meals grace the clean table, and the dog is behaving as though she's just stepped off the faux-turf of the Westminster Dog Show.
Rarer still, fortunately, are the days where everything comically goes "all circus" on you. Mommy has to morph into an X-Men-type creature known as "Umbrella" when the gadget-oriented bambina decides to crank the shower all the way hot, and sheild the baby from the resulting lava flow while cranking it back (with shampoo in her eyes, no less.) The day is perfect for a walk, but Mommy's hairdo ends up looking less Angelina Jolie and very much more like "Doll From The Bottom Of The Toy Bin," and two blocks (or what I suspect was two blocks... these are the rural 'burbs here) into the walk discovers that Post-Partum Butt is no longer holding up Grey Pants the way they used to (where'd it go? I'd like it back now!) so every few steps is an adjustment to either pants, or former ideals of modesty and class.
These days, of course, are also days where the bambina decides that a 15 minute power nap is all she needs all day, so that by the time the usual "witching hour*" rolls around, she's turning into a gremlin and alternately laughing hysterically as she plays "Give Mommy a black eye with my forehead" and whining, falling over her own feet. PMS leaves you teary-eyed over the fact that you missed "Signing Time" on PBS, and pissy that the washable brown crayon with which you let the bambina tag the kitchen walls is just not as washable as advertised. Dinner semi-scorches, and the well water leaves manganese stains on the sink. You wonder why you used a tablespoon to measure out the cookie dough, and not an ice cream scoop. You wonder how chamonile tea would taste with a healthy jigger of Southern Comfort.
As always, with time and patience, grace prevails and sustains, and before you know it, the day is over, and you've learned that yet again, tomorrow is a brand new day.
* The Witching Hour, in small children, refers to the time period approximately between 3-5 PM, where they can become quite irritable, whiny, hyper, or just plain annoying. It has much more to do with circadian rhythms and blood sugar, I believe, than parenting or disposition, and only has to be endured with the understanding that a little dinner and a soothing bedtime ritual away is peace and quiet.