In honor of earth day, the school declared a mismatch day. And while I can’t for the life of me figure out what mismatching has to do with the environment, and since Al Gore is refusing my phone calls, we ran with it. While Tess and grant ran around last night, giggling to themselves, cackling really, Peter was too absorbed in Human Planet to be bothered and so swore he would willingly wear whatever I chose. Put it on this morning and declared it cool. Not because he thought it was outrageously mismatched, but because it is exactly the kind of get up he regularly chooses to go out in. Slippery clothes from head to toe and seven different shades of blue (they’re all blue…they go). I stayed up way too late last night thinking I could defeat the diabolical level on my sudoku app. I’ve made the grave tactical error of potty training Lucy just as baseball season launched, which meant I was in the bathrooms at the ball park no fewer than four times with her the other night. It would have been more, but on the fifth time I turned to Dan with a look that clearly said, “I’m just going to tell her to pee in her pants.” I think he took her after that. Now I have to find a camping website that’ll ship a Lady J here before tomorrow’s game. It doesn’t seem unreasonable to expect potty training to be part of the preschool curriculum, so I’m writing my state senator as soon as I finish explaining to Peter why he will have to brush his teeth twice a day for the rest of his life. Oral hygiene is not a pop quiz. Moving on. The rooster attacked me last night when I went to get the eggs, prompting me to run inside and shoot out a furious text to Dan declaring that I’ll never, ever, and I mean it this time, take care of those darn chickens again. Only I didn’t say darn. The kids splashed my new curtains, I think Lucy hates me and I have a raging headache from the organic dark chocolate covered organic raisins I ate two days ago thinking surely even my doctor would approve of a sweet treat like that. It’s been a Thursday week and this weather has me longing for a fire and a good salad, but since grant has practice tonight and Peter has to get registered for Pinewood Derby at six, I’m choosing instead to sit here listening to the sweet imaginary rumblings of three little girls eating applesauce in their ball gowns and thanking Father for these bumps with the littles that remind me that I have four children and they’re all healthy. And I live in this magical place with room for chickens and tree forts and friends to play dress up with. And above all that, the keen knowledge that even stripped of all those things I would still have Jesus and he would be enough. He would be enough. This is me being real. Wondering how badly you need a weekend?