I won’t lie: at some moments, this requirement I’ve given myself to Find the Freaking Pony Every Damned Day starts to feel like the Bataan Death March of Fun.

Yesterday was one of those moments.

It’s not like something horrible happened. Several good things did. Some things were not optimal, however, and the overall tone was set to ‘grumpy,’ and this Pollyanna Discipline I have committed to started to make me a little disgruntled.

That being said, the pony has been located, not in a pile of manure, but in a lawn full of little pony manure ‘surprises’ that you discover the hard way: by walking into them with your nice shoes:

1. Daughters want to have dinner with me tonight! Nothing’s better than a text message that says, “I’ll be in town! Let’s have dinner!” (Note: there’s no manure for this one to hide in. Flat out great thing to have happen. Wonderful surprise that popped up while I was scraping crap off my shoes)

2. The Baby is required to visit with developmental specialists on a regular basis to make sure that he’s doing everything he should be doing. While this is necessary and important and I’d worry like heck if the specialists didn’t call to set an appointment, and I must stress that the specialists are quite simply Lovely People, it’s about as much fun as a colonoscopy. Maybe worse, since no one offers sedation for these little appointments.

We had a surprise visit from the specialists this week, and for a minute we were worried that The Baby was doing something wrong (kinda like trying to eat with his feet) but then we realized that The Baby was doing everything the right way.

That’s a good feeling.

© E. Stocking Evans 2014