My main goal for this evening was to straighten out our front entryway. Basically, it's an eternal disaster.
Because of a certain epic drain-tile project, because we no longer have a sidewalk or concrete patio or steps going up to our front door, because we have to use the other door beside the front door which isn't technically our front door, because it snowed... I was going to do this tonight. Designate clean and dirty zones, specific hooks and baskets for each kid's winter junk, the type of thing that makes sense to a mom but will probably never be followed for more than a day or two.
Before I attacked the entryway I wanted to close the chicken coop for the night.
I filled an empty milk jug with warm water. I grabbed the hat that I wore last night when I shoveled the coop out. Goo fell into my eye. Most likely, literally, crap. Strangely, this didn't bother me as much as the thought of walking through our disastrous entryway.
I tiptoed around the mud in the entryway, determined to make it to my boots without getting my socks dirty.
This was apparently too lofty a goal.
Far, far too lofty.
Between me and my boots were three steps. I expected that. What I didn't expect was the slick of thick wet mud and slushy snow completely covering every square inch of these three steps, as well as the landing where my boots sat, mocking me. I put my jug of water down because, apparently, I can think better with both hands free.
After a long minute and some grumbling I aimed my toes for the very edge of the first step.
I kicked the jug of water over.
It poured down and across all three steps, soaked the bottom of my pant leg, and my entire sock. I probably don't need to mention what a happy little clam I was.
I squish, squish, squished my way back into the kitchen, searching for a towel. I looked back, saw my wet sock prints in the carpet and sighed. The sigh of defeat. I slogged back through the stairs of despair and shoved my wet feet into my boots.
Then I realized my gloves were still in the kitchen. Seven degrees Fahrenheit outside? Eighteen mile per hour wind? Who needs gloves?
I stepped outside into a sparkling winter wonderland. With each step more and more snow packed into my boots, which I had failed to zip up. Evening chores completed, I headed back into the house and up the soggy muddy steps: feet wet, hands cold, and two eggs in my coat pocket.
But I learn!
I do not make the same mistake twice!
I covered my coat pocket with my hand, feeling those two fragile eggs inside it. Last Friday when I bent over to take my boots off, two eggs rolled out of my pocket and down the steps.
Down the steps, leaving a smattering of egg on each one. Crack, crack, crack, splat. If that's not thrilling I don't know what is.
But I learned my lesson! I wasn't going to lose these eggs!
And then, I guess, I needed to take my hand off my pocket to pull my boot off. Or something.
Crack, crack, splat.{sigh}
For real. Right into the wet muddy yuck.
Maybe we should just use the back door.
