"I know a man named Michael Finnigan. He had whiskers on his chinnigan. He pulled them out and they grew in again. Poor old Michael Finnigan. Begin again."
These are the words to a children's song. You know, the kind that just keeps starting over and over and over.
Sometimes I feel like life is like that. Just a series of restarts.
This morning at 6:50 a.m., I awakened a sleeping baby to get her ready for her day, so I could drop her off at her little preschool and I could go to work.
When I woke her up, she squinted her eyes, smiled a sleepy smile and said, "What happened, Mimi?"
Oh little one. That just often seems to be the question of the day.
Just when it looked like we had things all figured out, just when life seemed like it might settle into an easier routine, then once again the routine of our life pressed "restart."
Begin again.
The nanny is no more. We are back to early mornings and hurried breakfasts and rushed trips back into the house to retrieve whatever article it was that got left behind, and so on, and so on, and so on.
But, as I gave myself a pep talk (trust me, I REQUIRED a pep talk this morning), I decided that I was going to be positive. So I put on a smile, talked lightly with the two toddlers in my backseat, and started my day, and restarted our routine.
As I dropped them off into their classroom, the squeals of delight from their teachers and classmates left me feeling a little bit happier. Shortstack said to me on my way out, "Mimi, I in cool!" (Mimi, I'm in school!)
All that to say, it's a restart. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing.
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