An Ordinary Day

8:15 a.m. -- I have no sense of humor this morning, no comfort in being connected to the struggle of humanity. Today it's just me, my husband (asleep in his desk chair upstairs), and my three kids, two of whom are trying hard to get themselves disowned. I suppose they weren't all that different from other mornings though. Alex started off agitated over a lost permission slip, which merged into distress over the fact that I took the little hot pink slip off his book order yesterday and now he doesn't know when it's due. Kaitlyn spat with me over a multitude of things, including eating her vitamin and wearing her coat . (It is, after all, 34 degrees outside, and she was in a Tshirt.) On little sleep, with no private time to buffer their demands, I did not find her attempts to "persuade" me charming, to say the least. I had to bite my tongue hard to keep from saying, "How can you do this to me, after the night I've just been through?" I am determined that I will NOT use their father's illness to guilt them into good behavior. They deserve the right to be children -- even if they happen to be high strung and difficult children at the moment. I will admit though, after awhile, I did turn toward her and say, in no uncertain terms, "YOU are being a brat this morning. A complete and total brat." Her silence was only momentary before she shot back, "Well, you're not exactly being very nice either!" When she finally walked out the front door, I have to admit ... I felt something awfully close to relief.

10:45 a.m. -- I just finished two rousing rounds of Candy Land with Brendan. I am a firm believer in the value of board games in a child's development for many reasons, and I'm usually pretty firm about them following the rules (although I will sometime "lose" if I can do it without them knowing). Today, though, I let Brendan make his own rules. They were wild and about as permanent as a drawing in the sand during a hurricane, but he had such glee in his eyes as he and I roamed all over that board. The only time I protested was when I got stuck in a spot that he had sailed over moments before. "How come you get to go right over the top, and I have to stay here?" He thought for a moment, and then stated the obvious. "Because my piece is magic, and yours is not."

I got a phone call while we were playing. We were supposed to get some money from a family investment, but it has fallen through. We were going to do several things, including getting a dog for the kids (and, to be honest, their mother!). I had even written to the Oregon Humane Society to tell them our living situation and to ask their help in finding a dog that would be happy in our home. The kids have been so excited. Only a matter of days, and we would have our dog! But now, we have to wait. We could pay the adoption fee, with a bit of a stretch, but there's no way we can pay the pet deposit. I will NOT cry. I will not.

5:37 p.m. -- The Humane Society just called! Apparently, Max just walked through their door. He's a 3-year-old black lab, friendly but protective of "his people," sturdy, fun, but not too boisterous. He sounds perfect! And they are willing to hold him for us for a few days AND wave the adoption fee. The catch? We still don't have the money for the pet deposit, and I'm not at all sure that our landlord (who is far more businessman than philanthropist) will agree to let us have him on simply our word that we would pay him when we get our tax return in three weeks or so. But it can't hurt to ask, huh? Just the possibility -- maybe, maybe it'll work out -- buoys my spirits.

Mark is not doing very well tonight, but we were in to the hospital the last two nights. Surely the Fates will grant a reprieve tonight. I'm choosing to believe it will be so. I'm going to label my fall/Christmas pictures that came today and do a little embroidery while Kate and I watch Sleepless in Seattle. But I'm not going to get TOO comfortable, just in case.