A golden egg

I spent three long days last week home with two stomach-flu sick kids while coordinating two press conferences, a school fundraiser and a interdepartmental mini-crisis. While peeking into the back of Ryder's diaper to check the damage at one point, he asked me, "Whatchyou yookin' for back dere, Mom? A egg?" At the time I laughed and answered yes and he proceeded to tell me all about the egg he laid and the baby bird that would be living with us moving forward. It's been my anecdote of the week.

But, upon further reflection, I've decided Ryder offered a great comment on what I took away from a long, hard week. The whole week offered up challenge after challenge, but every one of those cracked open and offered up a new possibility. Every egg had a prize inside -- greater understanding of an issue or a colleague or myself.

Oddly, I was given a gift of a dozen farm fresh eggs the day after that conversation -- each a shade of sage or brown that I thought only occurred on the cover of Martha Stewart Living -- but lo and behold -- occur in nature too! And they are beautiful in themselves and in their promise. Just like the moments that make up my messy good life.

So, yes Ryder, I'm looking for an egg and I promise that we always will have great fun with whatever we find inside.

you gotta laugh...

I have a trying child. One of the three. He's sweet too, loving, but prone to fit-pitching and slippery tantrums. Tonight, I'm alone with the three boys and this one throws rice at me at the dinner table which leads to enforced time-out. Then, when he won't stay in the corner I threaten a spanking... and when I go to deliver, I pull down his little diaper and stick my thumb in a mushy pile of poop. This brings the house down. All three boys laughing. Me not so much.

So I nix the spanking in favor of a stern talking to over a particularly messy diaper change. I end with "you got me?" and my 2-1/2 year old imp says "yesh, I unnershtand." Five minutes later, after the imp and his twin have stripped down to their diapers and are jumping on the guest bed, I sternly say "Wyatt, I asked you to finish your milk. Will you finish it now?" and he says, "uuuuummmmmm..... no sir!" I laugh, I can't help it. I roll with it and it's good.