It's happened again. At some point in the last 24 hours, my house and its minions launched a sneak attack.
When I walked into the basement, I discovered that a certain family cat had thrown up and was denying any knowledge of it at all. Obviously, our furry friend had brought in the feline counterpart to the I. Dunno child(you know that one extra child you have who takes the heat for all household mishaps--i.e.-"Who decided to connect the sprinkler hose to the septic tank?" "Gee, I. Dunno."). The only one who was the least bit amused by this was Baby T, who couldn't understand why I withheld such unique play-doh from him.
Overnight, the stack of dinner dishes whom I begged sit tight until I came to visit in the morning, decided to stage a protest-a sort of place-setting "sit-in" if you will; in which they clearly called for a sympathy strike from the local Pots and Pans Unit. Needless to say, the situation became hostile and I decided against crossing the picket line, dropped this morning's breakfast dishes on the corner and told them to walk.
Then, this afternoon, I laid everyone down for naps. Then... ONE messy diaper, ONE potty break, ONE juice cup refill, TWO stories read and MULTIPLE pleas for early parole later, I was the only one who was sleeping.
I cringe when people suggest that life on the ark is perfect. Partly because that's a heavy mantle, but also because it simply isn't true. Getting everyone dressed and ready for the picture is half the battle, getting them all to smile is another. The dirty dishes, the unruly kids and parents, the messes and the dishevelment that is life aren't in the pictures that make the final cut and wind up on the wall. No, they're not the status quo either, but they are there, hidden amongst the old sepia-toned negatives, signs of our shortcomings and failings and a reminder that the only truly perfect picture ever taken must be divinely developed.