If you asked me yesterday (or any other night for the bast 2-1/2 years) if I was lucky you might have gotten any number of sarcastic answers - none of them being an emphatic yes.
In fact I'd expect myself to say something more like this:
"Well Lannie crapped on the carpet before 7AM, Derek had to work all morning and Jaxon has had 27 tantrums already because he doesn't want dinner and it's only 3:30PM"
I'm not sure if it's the fact that I FINALLY have an amazing adult only vacation with my husband looming on the horizon, or because I had a conversation with a friend who has a very sick kid or because it's warming up and all of sudden the terrorists can go play in the back yard alone, but for whatever reason I keep thinking of just how lucky I am.
Most days come at me like a freight train - get up, get terrorists ready, diffuse tantrum #1 & #2, drop off terrorists at daycare, work, pick up terrorists, referee terrorist car seat wars, make dinner, listen to terrorists tell me they don't like dinner they want chips, argue with big read about homework and grades, clean poop off of something....rinse and repeat.
None of that feels very lucky. It feels very much like a prison sentence or a really bad rendition of groundhog day and I forget all the things I should be thankful for. (Don't get me wrong...I've got 2 toddlers 15 months apart and a full time job...I still have a lot to bitch about too)
The reason I'm so lucky is because of the man that I'm married to -
This is IT- this is why I'm lucky:
Thank you honey for sharing this crazy ride with me! I might not tell you every day, but know that I know just how lucky I am to have you by my side!
And....I call Not It on the next shitty diaper....