Sometimes the children sleep past 8 o'clock. Miss O has done well with her brand new alarm clock for the past few days, and gets up without any sort of hassle or whining or general blech.
Sometimes Wee Man will run downstairs to get the big container of pretzels so that I can have something in my belly before I sit up. You know, so it goes well when I do sit up.
Some days, the morning diaper isn't that stinky, and the poop doesn't cause copious amounts of vomit. Probably thanks to the pretzels. Thanks, pretzels! Thanks, Wee Man!
Sometimes the children are more like scrambled eggs than oil and water. And they speak kindly and play nicely and don't bludgeon each other to death like filthy neanderthals. And that's super.
Sometimes plans go according to, uh, well, plan. And despite the nintey millionbillion interruptions and questions and needs more juice and potty breaks and oops the baby tried to eat a jingle bell (sorry, H, didn't tell you that, I promise I'll clean up better next time), you can just sit (stand) and talk (make bread) all stinky day long and even make yummy soup for lunch and have a fun time for six hours, the longest time without yelling at the kids at all, while actually being awake, in the history of the world.
And sometimes, when it's time for a nap, they just lay down and go to sleep like normal people. And it is quiet and nice, and the smell of Hot. Bread. Now. invades your whole body like a happy, high-carb drug. And even if you can't decide to snooze or eat warm bread, everything is still nice. Because sometimes, it just is.