Do you ever hear one of those stories that just automatically makes you feel better about your day (or life)? Good, here’s another one for you.

Yesterday, which for whatever reason felt like the longest Thursday ever, I left work to pick up the boys per usual and when I got to the school, I parked in a usual spot. But usually I pick Matty up first and – for some godforsaken reason – yesterday I thought, “maybe Abbott will enjoy going to Matty’s room – you know, now that he’s completely mobile and stuff” – so, like a good mom, I got him first. This was a great idea – at first. It may have taken three times as long to get to Matty’s room but, mostly, it was worth it.

After we finally made it and went through the whole pick-up routine, I wrangled the boys who were busy hugging each other (orrrr tackling each other – potato, puh-tot-o) and we headed out the way we came – from the back of the church, through fellowship hall where the preschoolers were running free and to the door. Once we reached fellowship hall, the boys went bizerk – like, BIZ-ERK. Abbott picked up some legos from one kid and ran off with them and then ran up to another and stole his ball. Matty went off running in the other direction. I was wearing a long(ish) skirt and heeled boots and I wasn’t really in the mood to chase them so I watched for a bit dodging children, toys and other miscellaneous items. As the teachers tried getting the kids to start picking up and parents trickled in, I decided that was my queue to corral my two wild things and be on our way. Abbott was running around like a lunatic (he turned one and things really took a turn) and Matty was nowhere to be found so I decided to find him first. I found him in the school kitchen (BECAUSE OF COURSE I DID) with a teacher trying to convince her to give him things (can you feel my eyes rolling!?). I told him it was time to go about 25 times and, eventually, he listened (I wish I could say that’s our record but unfortunately, I can’t).

When we returned to the near-chaos fellowship hall Abbott was still running with the big kids and giggling up a storm. I decided I had to try my best to swoop him up so, with the car seat on one arm and the diaper bag slung across my back, I approached him. This is where things get a little blurry. Suddenly, there I was with my foot trying to find ground and instead finding a bouncy, unsteady surface (errrr, item?). Abbott was in one arm, the car seat dangled on the other and the last thing I remember before hitting the floor was the high-pitched, “OH!” of a nearby teacher. The next thing I knew, the teacher was hovering over us trying to help me up off of the floor. BLESS HER HEART. Mortified (OBVIOUSLY), I got our things together quickly only to see the teacher who had undoubtedly and unsuccessfully (but, again, bless. her. heart) tried to catch us, ushering Matty quickly to the door to meet us. I made eye contact with another teacher who was very clearly embarrassed enough for the both of us and I thought, “WELP, THERE’S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING.”

The nice teacher offered to carry Matty out to the car and, pretty much at a loss for actual words, I mumbled something that she thankfully translated as, “Yes, please.” Once we got to the car and were both loading the boys into the car, I thanked her at least three thousand times (or at least that’s what it felt like) and then just like that she was heading back inside to tame the chaos – probably extremely grateful she wasn’t me. Matty, who had luckily missed the most embarassing moment of his life (if he actually had any idea what embarrassment was), was chattering away at a pace I could not comprehend. I had to tell him I had fallen and show him my knee hoping to curb his demand to know the answer to the 75292342039 questions he was asking. At the sight of my knee, his eyes widened.

“WHAT HAPPENED, MAMA?”
“Well, I fell.”
“YOU FELL???”
“Yes.”

On the drive home he asked me what happened 500 different times and offered me an ice pack 200 times. I cursed my “luck” one million times.

WHO DOES THAT?! Seriously, you guys, who does that?

Apparently, me. BECAUSE OF COURSE I DO.

After nursing my wounds and what little amount of pride I have, I finally went to sleep last night excited for an unseasonably warm Friday and the beginning of my birthday weekend filled with pizza, play dates, fresh flowers, family fun and snuggles. Abbott must have been excited, too, because he woke up at 3am ready to rage like he was in Vegas and I was so lucky because it was my night! We both got to go back to sleep around 5am. BUT if you know anything about my kids, you know it really wouldn’t be a holiday weekend unless Matty came down with a sudden case of something mysterious (AKA Strep). Last year on the Friday of my birthday weekend, Matty broke out in a mysterious rash and got sent home before his Valentine’s day party and just like clockwork, he woke up this morning with a 102 degree fever and a couple hours later I was covered in vomit. YUM. THAT, my friends, is how you know it’s a REAL holiday around here.

Luckily, it’s not strep (which we know from a hellacious trip to the doctor that was basically Matty screaming so loudly I couldn’t even hear his diagnosis) and we’ve been puke free for a couple hours. So, let’s all pray the fever goes away so he can enjoy the weekend as much as I still intend to.

I’m wishing everyone a really great weekend, but especially my mama who’s probably been covered in my puke and sacrificed her own birthday fun more times than I will ever know. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!