Sometimes days are great. There’s no particular reason, they just are. I woke up, pulled together an outfit in which I felt good, got the kids fed and off to daycare, made it to work on time, while listening to a fantastic blogger (Rachel Hollis) read a book that she wrote. I arrived at work on time, not as early as I would have liked, but still on time. I proceeded through a good day – accomplished work that needed doing, put out minor fires (I’m not a fire fighter, but seriously, as an Executive Assistant, there are always fires that need putting out), shipped a parcel to my sister and my nephew, shipped something that I had sold online, dropped off charity bags, did my banking, paid my property tax (all in my 30 minute lunch break mind you! Gotta love when the lines are in my favour!), finished off my day, thinking it had been smooth sailing.

And then… just as I am heading out the door, knowing I will be able to get to the daycare on time, I am stopped by a colleague that noticed another fire smouldering in a corner… so back to booting my laptop, calling Purolator, hunting down the errant parcel, re-directing it, and closing down again… crisis averted. Until my coworker and friend says “Kali, does your daycare charge you when you are running late?”… yep… a dollar a minute… “GO!!” she says as she shoos me out the door. I run to my car, and pray for decent traffic.

The odds are again in my favour! It is a GREAT day. I make it to my end of town in time to pick up a plant, gas up my car and still make it to the daycare with 5 minutes to spare. When I opened the door, my kids start going nuts that they want all you can eat tacos… it was tempting to go to a restaurant and fast food it, but given that we had just started our simplification and low waste movement yesterday, I figured it was a bit soon to give up and go for take out. I offered to make tacos, to which my daughter whined “but it won’t be all you can eat!” as though the idea of overconsumption of quasi-Mexican food would win me to her cause. Then my son started shouting out different restaurants, and foods, as we drove to the store. They had convinced themselves that I would give in. I did not. But I firmly, and contentedly, purchased what we were missing for a taco dinner. This had been a great day. It could only continue. Right?

Well, this is where the wheels really started to come off – my son decided he needed Gatorade. And chips. And cookies. And candy. My daughter wanted Pocky. Or maybe Oreos. Or maybe cookies? I reminded them we were just hungry and it was dinnertime.

Back in the car, my daughter started asking to play with her friend… I reminded her that she had chores, homework, dinner then bed. At home, my son started to climb on the remaining charity bags in my kitchen. My daughter decided it wasn’t her turn to do the cat chores. My son wanted to wear a giant blanket around the kitchen, knocking things to the ground. My daughter had a million things to talk to me about, which I really loved, except for the fact that she has taken to speaking in a very silly, babyish, lisping voice that is nothing like her real voice, and it just grates on my last nerve. (I know. I am totally mom of the year…)

In the midst of the dinner/chore/lunch packing/chaos that is my family in the evening, my husband came home from a long day. He was tired, and sore, both from his job and from my brother’s Ninja Warrior birthday on the weekend. I tried to slow down through dinner, while fielding texts from coworkers and friends, trying, albeit not very well, to remember that dinner table is family time and I am not a 15 year old who should be texting. After dinner, I tried to remind myself that tired as I was, it had been a great day. Things had, overall, gone well. There had been no disasters. There had been no trips to the hospital. And then bedtime brought a fight. Nothing worth noting here, but let’s just say it put a damper on the day, and caused everyone to be going to bed 3hrs late, me to be “putzkying” around my kitchen until 1:00AM (I am truly my mother’s daughter), pitting cherries, and washing dishes. I decided to put Rachel Hollis’ Girl, Wash Your Face back on, and while I listened to her stories of gratitude, I was compelled to blog this.

On days when things start to go badly, there is an easiness to writing the day off as a bad day. But when you sit down and take stock of your day, or your week or your month, it’s just not that bad. If no one has died, and there have been no fires (like, actual firefighter fires), your cat is still home, you have food to feed your kids, you have friends and a job, a telepathic mommy that you can call when you feel at your wits end, and randomly texts you at exactly the moment you needed her (or a bff, or a sister, or a neighbour, or… you get the idea), then it’s ok to let go of the not so great stuff – the whining, the fighting, the relentless demand for tacos – and think – yeah, sometimes days are just great.