Tuesday morning started at 5:30, with a text from our babysitter explaining that she couldn't come in that day due to a death in the family. I got up shortly thereafter, made breakfast, got myself and the kids dressed, packed Penny's lunch, made sure everyone had clean teeth and brushed hair, and then Peter walked them to school. Marilee and I picked William up and we all headed to the grocery store and for a special lunch at Panera. All was well, under the circumstances.

The day unraveled a bit from there. We got a call on the way home that Penny was coughing and couldn't stop. So we detoured to school to pick her up. I left Marilee and William in the car and returned, with Penny, a few minutes later. "Mom, I went tinkle in my pants," said William. Of course you did.

Marilee and William napped, but they woke up earlier than usual, both in tears. I made a doctor's appointment for Penny (she was fine). Peter took William to a football game (thus the photo). I started a load of laundry and heated up leftovers for dinner.

And it was all just fine. The day had been disrupted. It wasn't what I planned. I didn't get to write blog posts or work on my talk for a women's tea in Philadelphia next weekend. I didn't have profound moments with our children. But I also didn't carry resentment with me all day long. Somehow I was able to shrug my emotional shoulders and think that there will be other time to get those things done, and today my kids need me, and that's just how it goes sometimes.

Maybe I'm growing up. Maybe I've started to believe at my core, and not just in my head, that disruptions are a part of what make life holy, a part of what make parenting transformative, that limitations on my time and decisions are reminders that I'm just a human being and not a superhero. Maybe I've started to see grace in the every day.