Scene: M and I are eating scratch-made waffles at the table. She set the table with Frozen plates while I poured batter, and she was halfway through her waffle when I finished the last batch and sat down beside her with my own. A was snuggled into my chest, snoozing in the Ergo. The sun was shining through the windows. I kid you not, Raffi was streaming through the speakers. I took a quick photo to document it, to prove it actually happened.
Truth was, not 15 minutes earlier, Mac Daddy was rushing out the door full of apologies for the chaos he was unable to help with — A was on the living room rug, red and screaming and wanting to be picked up. M was flailing nearby, mad because I wasn’t making the waffles. I was trying to shush A while explaining to M that I WOULD make her waffles once I got things under control. So I ran to the nursery, grabbed the Ergo, asked M to help by setting the table, and it fell into place.