The Strongest Woman in the World

"What does not kill me, makes me stronger."  Friedrich Nietzsche.


I have to admit it . . . I thought Life was going to do me in today.  This is not an uncommon occurrence, but today was extra-special. 

It actually started last night when my editor asked if she could have the article I had planned on submitting tomorrow submitted today.  Not a bad thing, but unexpected.  The article I could write, but I needed photos.  Okay . . . first thing I'd run down to URI's East Farm, take some orchard photos, run home, and email them by noon.  No problem. 

Yet. 

First thing in the morning I get a text from my former Extension colleague explaining the orchard won't show what I want to show.  Ugh.  Now I'll have to drive 45 minutes north to my parents' farm, take the pictures, and get them in by noon.  I can do that.  

I tell the kids they're having Stonyfield yogurt for breakfast.  Both of them decide to throw the yogurt across the table.  Both of them get put in time out.  Both of them get out of time out and decide to eat their yogurt.  Good decision. 

Meanwhile, I am trying to repair my son's glasses.  You have to understand that my four-year-old is NOT easy on his glasses.  He has been known to throw them, roll on them, bend them, and generally try to destroy them.  Sunday my soon-to-be-ex-husband used Epoxy to reattach one of the arms that had finally yielded to months of abuse. 

Yesterday while "play fighting" with our neighbor, he got punched in the glasses, breaking the frame and dropping one of the lenses.  The future ex bought more Epoxy, but didn't have time to fix them this morning.  Never having used Epoxy, I figure now is the time to learn.  (Don't ask why.  If I knew why I do all the crazy things I do, I wouldn't be in counseling!) 

I open the Epoxy, mix it together with a Popsicle stick, oh-so-carefully paint the edges (it would be nice if he could see through the lenses when I'm done!), and hold them tightly together.  Five minutes, the box says, before it sets enough to let go. 

Two minutes in I hear my two-year-old: "I pooped!"  So she did.  Right in her potty seat like a big girl.  And now like a big girl she's trying to dump it into the toilet.  Great. 

Belatedly I say, "Don't touch it!"  Somehow she manages to dump it in without making a complete mess.  Thankfully.  So I'm holding the not-yet-set glasses in one hand, wiping her up with the other, and my cell rings.  (I could not make this up--I'm not good enough!) 

It's my colleague from URI.  Bless her heart, she has photos.  Great photos.  She'll Dropbox them to me.  Wonderful!  No trip to Johnston required. 

Soon thereafter I get a call from the preschool my son will be attending in the fall.  I have to bring paperwork in--locator card, immunization chart, recent physical--by the 29th.  BUT the school is closed this week for vacation, and I only have one or two free days between now and then.  I'll get it today.

I call the pediatrician.  I wrestle my kids into shoes and out the door.  I strap them in the car.  I breathe a sigh of relief and turn up the radio.  We go to the pediatrician and pick up the form. 

We stop at the Town Hall for the locator card.  "Did you bring his birth certificate?" 

I want to say, "Are you kidding me?  I had to come HERE to pick up his birth certificate in the first place . . . can't you just look it up in your records?!?"  Instead I say, "Nobody said I needed that." 

"They usually don't."  With a sweet smile.  Yeah.  Happy Mommy?  Not on your life! 

Back in the car. 

We run to the bank.  (Yay, Washington Trust drive-through!)  We get lollipops.  I explain three times that they can't have the lollipop right now because we are going to see Dr. Nicole (our amazing chiropractor) to adjust all of our backs after a recent fall off the swing set, a crash into the glider, and four months of divorce chaos. 

Dr. Nicole de-subluxates us. 

It is around 4 o'clock--after lunch and attempted naps and playing outside.  I am stacking firewood by the house, partially to get it out of my pasture and partially so I won't have to do it next winter when there's a foot of snow on the ground.  As I move back and forth from the pile to my wheelbarrow, Nietzsche's quote comes to mind.

All I can say is I sure hope he's right.  Because if he is, I am well on my way to becoming the strongest woman in the world!