Every Day is Good Some Days are Better


Creative Commons License photo credit: cotaro70s

By: Cheryl Butler

We have a motto around our house—“Every day is good, some days are better” which my husband initiated way back when before we even had kids. An eternal optimist, he can find the bright side to the dimmest of situations, which is certainly not a bad trait to pass along to our children. Last week, I had one of those “good” days, if that’s what you could really call it. After drying my first load of laundry I was dismayed (Ok, disgusted) to find that a red crayon had slipped by my pocket checks and had melted all over the load of clothes, mainly my husband’s business shirts—7 of them! Did I mention they were brand new shirts? They were. Trying to save some time, I washed them along with some of the kid’s play clothes, and the result of my efficiency was a Crayola disaster that resembled a candy cane with the measles.

Remembering our family motto, I decided against running away and as I contemplated crying the phone rang so I pushed the shirts aside to answer it. My “good” day had just taken another turn but it wasn’t for the better. It was my frantic son alerting me that he had forgotten his gym clothes and could I PLEASE bring them down to school before PE started in 30 minutes. No trouble at all. I gathered up my two youngest children, still in their PJs, and dutifully headed down to school arriving with 10 minutes to spare. Unfortunately there was one small problem. In my haste to get there on time, I had left the gym clothes at home. I wonder what the nice office ladies must have thought when they saw me dragging my 2 and 5-year old pajama-clad kiddies into the school office only to deliver my tale of woe instead of the gym shorts. Pity, is my guess and hopefully they passed it along to the PE teacher.

Once back home again, I finally got the kids dressed and engaged in a quiet puzzle activity. (Coloring is now banned at our house.) I bravely threw in the next load of laundry and before I tackled the breakfast dishes I made a quick stop at my laptop. I am one of those optimistic sorts who love to enter contests, despite the lousy odds. One in particular that I never miss is the HGTV dream house. My chances here are better than average seeing that I can enter once a day for nearly two months but with my day only “good” I immediately ran into trouble with the letter “j” key. It popped off not once but a dozen times and in my final attempt to fix it, it became airborne and landed behind the refrigerator, one of the scariest places in our house.

Only that we had just had the GE repairman out to fix our ice machine right before the holidays I wouldn’t have attempted to look for a valuable coin never mind a computer key behind our massive fridge. You see, the nice repairman could find nothing wrong with our unit other than the horrific condition of our dusty coils and such that awaited him when he pulled it out into the center of the kitchen. It was then and there I was given the ABCs of proper appliance maintenance and Mr. GE went one step further by telling me that my lack of vacuuming would eventually cost my family a lot of money! I now know true shame.
Things generally happen in threes so I safely assumed that I could salvage the afternoon by turning my attention to something I love to do—bake cookies. I couldn’t imagine that a fun task such as cooking with the Pillsbury Dough Boy could prove futile. Then again, if you forget to put the timer on and retreat to the laundry room to chisel hardened crayon from your brand new front- loading dryer, there’s a darn good chance that 4 -dozen cookies could burn, and I’ve got the makings of a “good” day to prove it.

My children were now safely home for the day and although disappointed that the cookies had been charred quickly moved on to bombarding me with all that had happened at school. The usual bickering, requesting, and happy chit-chatting ensued as I began the homework and dinner routine. With that all under control I could now have a look for the letter “j”.

Just then I heard the garage door open and my husband heading up the stairs. He was greeted with a pile of fine tie-died shirts and the sight of me huddled in the kitchen corner on all fours. He cautiously began to ask what I was searching for—wasn’t it obvious– my sanity of course, but seemed relieved when I broke into laughter. My missing key was no where to be found but thanks to that family motto of ours I found something far more valuable behind our refrigerator—my renewed sense of humor which just happened to be lying right next to two dusty crayons—one red! Goes to show, every day is good some are just better.

Cheryl L. Butler is the patient mother of eight children under the ages of 14. A freelance writer, when not sorting the laundry she writes the column “Family Zone—It Just So Happens” for local magazines in Southern Rhode Island and is published in anthology series such as Chicken Soup For The Pre-School Mother’s Soul , Chicken Soup For The Chocolate Lover’s Soul, and The Misadventures of Mom and Disasters of Dad. She lives in Saunderstown, RI with her go-with-the flow husband, Brian, and their fun-loving brood of five boys and three girls. Contact her at CB091987@AOL.COM

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