I must be doing something right...

I've always heard that when you're on the right track and doing it right, that Satan will work his hardest to ruin it for you. Well, I must be doing something right. There's an old saying that my mother always uses: When it rains it pours. Well, it's been pouring at my house lately, and the sun is shining so we all know it ain't the wet, watery kind of pour. No, no. I would kill for the pouring to be rain. Instead it is broken things...lots of broken things. I will explain by giving a run-down of my day yesterday. I need to add a little back ground information so you understand the depth of the pouring...my husband's car is on the fritz. Looks like we'll be purchasing a new vehicle soon....very soon. So I get up yesterday morning and start my normal routine. I check my email to find that I have to take snacks to PWOC....snap, no time to fix anything from scratch so that means I'll have to stop by Einstein Brothers Bagels with all three little ones...not exactly my favorite activity, but no big deal. We can do it. Then I go downstairs and my washing machine has a funny code on the digital display. I have one of those cool front loading jobs that lets you wash every garment in wal-mart all at the same time. A necessity if you have a herd of children like I do. Anyway, funny display, so I restart the washer thinking one of the herd had messed with it. Uh, no. A little while later I checked on it again and it was flashing a different error code and had lights blinking all over it...uh...not good. So I fiddle with it and soon realize that it isn't spinning...at all. It's washing, and even rinsing a little, but it won't go into the spin cycle. Now if you've ever done laundry, you know this is necessary in order for you to be able to DRY your clothes. So my washer is officially not doing so hot. It will cost $130 to get Sears out here to service this. We're convinced that this has something to do with the movers that moved us to the woods. They didn't properly "lock" my washing machine and we're pretty sure it damaged it, but we couldn't prove it because there was no visible damage and the machine still worked....until now. And its too late to file a claim. Okay, snot boogers, the washing machine is busted and I still have to go get bagels. So I ignore the dripping wet wash sitting in my machine. Dress 3/4 of my herd (the other 1/4 had dressed himself and escaped for school knowing I would spontaniously combust at any moment) and herd them out the door so we can get to PWOC on time. Things run pretty smoothly, even the stop for bagels. I get to PWOC and realize that I have left my nursing cover at home. I need to feed Moose. I have no blanket, no cover, nothing. And I'm a modest girl. I was in a room full of women who would have been gracious and supportive had I chosen to "pop it out" but I can't bring myself to do that. Yay me! I have no cover. I manage to borrow one from a friend (bless her heart) and all is well again. I finish feeding Moose and we're enjoying praise and worship. Another friend with big kids picks up Moose to love on him, because who doesn't want to hold a cute chubby baby...at least until he pukes all over you....which he promptly puked all down her shirt. And it wasn't just a little...no no...it was a LOT. Bless her, she laughed, wiped it, and was okay. But Moose wasn't. He spent the ENTIRE day throwing up everything he ate....and I mean EVERYTHING. The reason you ask? He doesn't tolerate barbque sauce, I guess. And no, I'm not feeding my newborn barbque, I fed myself barbque, which apparently I can't eat while breast feeding. Along with Mexican food, Italian food, Chinese food, raw veggies, salad, sweet potatoes (even cooked) or dairy. He's doing a little better today, but man, yesterday was messy and gross. So my day isn't going so hot, but my attitude is hanging in there. I even manage to fix dinner for the kids before I leave for evening Bible study and a meeting at church. I manage to be late leaving the house because I was discussing the washing machine with Mr. Smartypants. I knew I was running late, so I stopped at the shopette (convience store for you non-military types) and went to grab my wallet. No wallet. Seriously. Come on now. The following is for you, Debra: I searched my (very messy) car high and low. It's nowhere. I call Mr. Smartypants, highly irritated that I've done this again, and ask if he can find it. He starts looking at home...no go. It finally dawns on me that I had the stroller out earlier in the day...hmmm. Well, of course, there's my wallet, right where I left it in the worst place possible, under the stroller in the cargo hold. So now, I'm officially gonna be late even if I speed. No big deal, I have small children and everyone is late occassionally. I head into the shopette for a Dr. Pepper. Now all of you know how much I LOVE my Dr. Pepper. Some of you have even threatened to have it pumped into me in IV form. I go in to get a nice big icey one from the soda fountain.......(everyone, all together now) it was OUT. Now, my best friend who is reading this understands the catostrophic disaster this is. After a bad day, a Dr. Pepper is a need, not a want. When they're out of Dr. Pepper over ice it becomes hurricane Katrina level disaster. So I settled for Coke, my heart breaking with every sip, and head off to church, where I arrive 15 minutes late. They hear my story at the end of Bible study and proceed to pray for me...and my washing machine. At the end of the day, I still had my sense of humor. Satan didn't win this one...so I must be doing something right.