Well, this morning started off really good. Like really good.

Stryker slept until 6:30 and so even when the girls woke up at 7:30(A little early for them..) I was ready to wake up and face the day.

Breakfast was easy. There was a little TV time when I saw things going down hill with the still sleepy Scarlett. I got a jump on the laundry right away, which was a good thing because I have like 10 loads to do today. Even though I just did Laundry like two days ago. But that's another blog for another day.

It never ends.

My house was cleaned yesterday. Yes, I cleaned the whole thing in just one day. And the kids got a bath. And were put to bed on time. I felt accomplished. Proud. I mean, I was pretty full of it.

So, I was ready for this day. I even sat down to blog, an entire hour ago.

But then it didn't happen.

It didn't happen an hour ago because I paused from writing and went downstairs to change the laundry over.

I had started with Stryker's things because he spit up a massive amount last night, like pretty much all I had fed him, all over his blanket. And all over me, but that's besides the point.

So anyways, he had to sleep without his blanket and I wanted him to have it first thing this morning.

Plus, this super nice mom at dance had just brought me this huge bag of baby boy clothes and I wanted to wash them so he could wear them.

But then. Then. Then they turned my entire load of Stryker's clothes Pink. Yes, somehow I missed the little red socks thrown in with the rest of the pile and now I have about twenty pieces of Stryker's clothes turned Pink.

Imagine my frustration. Opening the washer, ready to pull out some of the cutest little boy clothes and there they were: Pink.

Not even red. They were Pink.

He can't wear pink. He's a boy.

Plus, it's not an even color, it looks like I tried to Tye-Dye everything, but something went terribly wrong!

So, I of course did what any rational person would do. I started to cry. And cry.

Tom was probably like, what the heck is there to cry for over laundry.

I'll tell you what! Pink Baby Boy Clothes!

And some of my most favorite stuff, his Little Brother T-shirt and this cute little outfit with a soccer ball on it, the only outfit I have with a soccer ball on it because they don't make soccer logo-ed things for babies, trust me, I've looked...., and this little boy gown with elephants and giraffes on it that is actually blue, but the animals are outlined in white, well now they're outlined in pink.

I don't know what to do.

It's a large chunk of his small little wardrobe.

Right now I have them soaking in hot water and Oxyclean. Oxyclean, is usually my savior, but I don't know if it can handle this job. It's a big one! Probably the biggest job I've ever asked Oxyclean to do. If only Billy Mays were still alive! (JK, that was for dramatic flair. He couldn't help my laundry anymore than I can.)

Oh and these little socks that a friend gave me and I loved. They are super warm and thick. But now the little polar bear face is pink!

I know that its something so trivial. That clothes are a material item and I shouldn't get so attached to them, especially when I've owned them for like a week. But I can't help it. He doesn't have very much and if I keep ruining what little he does have then he is going to be one cold naked boy through the month of January. And February. And part of March, or the whole month of March depending on the Nebraska weather.

Ugh. So frustrating.

Ok.

So that was hours ago. I wrote that this morning. Since then, I've dealt with Scarlett getting into a packet of small nails and dumping them all over my carpet and having to comb through the carpet which happens to be the same color as the nails and is textured centimeter by centimeter for a half an hour to make sure I got them all and Stella thinking its ok to wake baby up by poking him in the face rapidly and opening his eyes manually with her fingers.

I've done four more loads of laundry with only three more to go.

I've made lunch and cleaned the kitchen.

I've witnessed Scarlett strip down completely naked and run through the house screaming at the top of her lungs, deciding she has to go potty, running to the potty and sitting down on it, a moment of swelling pride from her mother and then standing up and peeing all over the floor.

Pride gone.

Stella stepped in it.

I've cleaned it all up, including Stella's feet.

So. Here I am. The house quiet. The girls asleep. The boy asleep. Daddy almost asleep after leaving somewhere before five to push snow. And I've been able to reevaluate the trauma this day has brought.

First. The clothes are not that big of a deal. Most of them were clothes I had just seen last night and were too big for a while anyways. Several of them weren't even going to be age and seasonally appropriate. I ruined three of my favorite things, but three things that can also be replaced. The Little Brother Shirt is the most grieved but he was only going to wear that for another week or so, since it was truly a newborn size and it was short sleeved so not completely ideal. I'll deal. And they are still going to get another cycle in the wash, so lets hope for the best.

Second. This is life. It's not going to get easier. My girls and one day Stryker too, are always going to push boundaries and limits. There is always going to be a mess to clean up. Something is always going to be ruined. These are hard years, these are hard days especially when we are starting a first time obedience thing. I haven't maybe been strict enough in the past, so of course there is going to be a tough time at the beginning, but in the end hopefully it will work out for every one's benefit. I think I have been expecting the days to just go back to being easy. Like when I just had Stella, and we just played together and there was never any yelling or fighting or trouble. But those days are a thing of the past and I can't hope for them anymore. Besides, I don't really want them. I like a little bit of chaos and I thrive with hectic schedules. Stryker will probably not be our last and so the only way to go is forward, into uncharted and rockier waters. Hoping for the Grace of God to get me through.

Third. I'm not this emotional. As a real and normal person, I shouldn't be crying over Real Housewives and Pink Clothes. Those aren't normal responses. Here's the thing. It's got to be after-pregnancy hormones. I mean, seriously though, how long can I blame the fountain that is my ever flowing eye sockets on hormones? But for real. I'm a basket case. And I'm more tired than I have let myself admit. I feel good because I am getting some sleep, but I did just have a baby. And life is exhausting. And even if Stryker only wakes up once, that is still interrupted sleep. I just expected to be more of a zombie than I am. I'll take what I can get, trust me, but there is still a level of exhaustion that I haven't let myself admit and I need to embrace the fact that it takes me fifteen seconds to fall asleep, and it could happen at any given point during the day. Any point.

So anyways. There are moments of rational thinking left in this brain. You're probably not ever going to read about them here on this thing. It seems to be more of an outlet for the crazy, irrational, over-emotional, terrible mother portion of my brain.

But that's ok. At least I have an outlet.