The Best Worst Day

It was a rough day deep in the trenches of motherhood, my friends. If I heard, "It's not fair!" once, I heard it a hundred times. We had more than our share of tantrums today. Crabbiness abounded. And that includes Mommy. Nothing was going right today.

Late in the afternoon, my teenager had me drop him off at the city pool with a friend. They had never done this before. I think I felt a little nervous about this, but I didn't say it to them. I think they might have been a little nervous about this, too. Well, some fears must be faced head-on. What's the point of discussing?

In any event, their trip to the pool got me thinking: why wave the white flag on this day? Why let it go out with a whimper? I gathered up the towels and the pool passes. We were going to end this day on a high note if it killed us. I herded my three younger kids to the van, and off we went. Even on the way to the van, I had to referee a battle between two of the children. ("It's mine!" "No, it's mine!" "Mine!" "Mine!" "MINE!" "MINE!!" "MIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNE!"—with a quick swipe backwards with one hand while keeping the other hand firmly on the wheel, I grabbed the item in question. Both kids stopped screaming and stared at me. "Huh," I told them. "Looks like it's mine.")

From then on, the worst day instantly transformed to the best day. I don't know why. It's not for me to question. All I know is that I want to wrap up and keep forever a few little mental pictures of tonight at the city pool:

• My 9 year-old climbing timidly to the top of the huge water slide. In a glorious splash at the bottom, he swam triumphantly to the edge of the water. I smiled in approval. Later, he told me the lifeguard at the top gave him a test to make sure he was old enough to go down the slide: a quick history question about the first President of the United States, and a math equation.

• The two year old, Miss Independent, refusing to hold my hand, even in deep water. She'd strut boldly into deeper territory, lose her balance, and fall face-first in the water. I'd help get her upright again, and as soon as she was above water, she'd shake my hand off her arm again. Sputtering, she'd wipe the water from her face, laugh, and boldly strut some more. No fear.

• The six year-old, who faced—and conquered!—the "Mushroom of Doom." The mushroom spills gallons of water over its rounded top, and you have to pass through a wall of water to reach the inner sanctum of the mushroom, where you hover close to the stem until you're brave enough to pass through the wall of water to the outside again. Last year, at five, the same child screamed bloody murder if I even suggested we go near the mushroom. This year, my manly six year old whooped and hollered and beat his chest, no longer afraid of the giant mushroom. He ran through the wall over and over, puffed with pride.

Each little "ta-da" moment is a precious gift. I've done this motherhood thing long enough now to know that this whole experience is a continuum of "never to be seen again" moments. So many firsts. If you miss them, they are gone. And you don't even have time to mourn the missed ones, because more firsts might get missed while you brood.

This is exactly why distracted mommies can't wave the white flag on those bad days. Because in just a moment, the worst day can turn into the best day. Why? I don't know. It's not for me to question.