I woke up with a groan.
"This is not going to go well," I mumbled to myself as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled Kieran out to the TV.
It was only 6:30 in the morning, and he'd already been awake half an hour. He'd been in our bed since 4:30, when he woke up talking (kiss of death, I'm telling you), which in turn, woke me up sufficiently that I couldn't fall back asleep even after he was a snoozing, cuddly body in my arms. And this was after a surprise storm woke us all earlier in the night, with its wild display of lightning and thunder.
I sighed as I turned on an episode of Bubble Guppies. Our morning was jam-packed. Connor had tennis lessons at 10:00, Teyla had gymnastics at 11:45. I needed to have my whole act together - everyone dressed, fed and packed with entertainment options - before I left the house at 9:45. And then I just knew I would struggle to keep Kieran awake through all the shuttling, making him cranky and me sweaty and everyone fairly miserable.
I sighed again. The juju, it was bad. I could sense it.
I woke up an hour later, to the familiar pad-pad-pad of Kieran's feet. "Oh HAI Mama. I snuggle you, Mama?" he said to me in his little sing-song voice, brown eyes sparkling beneath his shaggy morning hair.
He climbed up next to me. Teyla followed a few minutes later. "I'm wearing my children for a blanket!" I said with a twinkle in my scratchy morning voice. The kids giggled.
And then, the strangest thing happened: None of my bad premonitions came true.
I was able to shower, get everyone dressed and grab my coffee before running out the door to take Connor to tennis. Because a storm threatened, I stayed court side and watched the darkness glower until it angrily let loose a downpour of water. Connor ran to the minivan and together we fought the curtains of steam on my interior windows (did I mention my AC is out?) as we drove home. It wasn't exactly merry, but I could tell Connor enjoyed being my only lieutenant in the battle. It was a rare mother-and-son moment.
Because tennis was cut short, I had time to fiddle on Facebook and fix a snack for the kids before heading to gymnastics. When I went to gather everyone, I found Kieran asleep on Corey's shoulder. I tucked him into his bed, told the big kids they could stay home as long as they played nicely together ("fat chance," I thought) and left Dad alone. And then I took Teyla to gymnastics. It was just her and me, which delighted her (and me) to no end. And since I didn't need to chase Kieran the entire 45 minutes of her class, I was able to sit and watch my little four-year-old do jumping jacks and pull-ups and walk the beam with nary an interruption.
(I swear; the little leotard and tiny stretch shorts do me in, every time.)
I got home, found the big kids happily playing Guess Who? together. (Who knew that was even possible?!?) I fixed lunch, Kieran woke from his nap after a solid two hours of sleep. All in all, NOTHING happened that I feared. The morning didn't go as planned, but it didn't crash and burn either. It was all OK, good even.
I need to remember this. Not all bad days stay that way.
(The title of this post comes courtesy one of my favorite children's books, A Good Day, about how even the worst days can turn good when you least expect it. I think I need to read it more often.)