Footloose

Back in the day before I was married and had kids, I always pictured myself having spontaneous dance parties with my family, the kind where everyone genuinely lets loose and displays their inner dance genius. Then, once I met and fell in love with Dan, I knew these future dance parties would be inevitable. The man is a dancing machine, one I can hardly keep up with. On the dance floor he's been known to steal the show, particularly at weddings. There was the time he wore his tie around his head, bandanna style, while moonwalking. There was the time he used the trees at an outside reception as dance props. There was the time where SEVERAL people grew suspicious that he might be a "wedding crasher", given the way he moved with such uninhibited freedom. There was even a very animated T-Rex impersonation during the toast portion of our own wedding, but I digress.

So it should come as no surprise that our offspring have a deep passion for dancing, and find ways to incorporate it into our daily routine as often as possible. Example: After a long, tiring day, Ben might offer this gem of advice: "Mom, we should probably just go home, and have a dance party." And of course, we usually do because nothing can melt my anger or stress or frustration like seeing my babies trying to imitate their crazy parents on the living room dance floor.

I am beyond thrilled that I was somehow able to capture this mini mid-day dance party with the kiddos. Make sure to keep a close eye on Ben- all the way up to the very last second of the video.

Oh my.

Camping, Revisited

Alright, let's be honest. Nobody thought I'd EVER get around to this post, right? Even I am filled with more self-loathing than ever before. Shame on me for taking two months to write about this major life event! I mean, this alleged "camping trip"was practically a whole lifetime ago, and it's not exactly fresh on my brain now. It's like the meat you see in the grocery store that has a special fluorescent orange discount sticker on it because of its rapidly changing color and interesting smell. (Which makes me wonder, who buys that meat? Here's what I say: if I'm in a position where I don't have enough money to buy fresh, un-rotten meat, then I vote going without. But that's just me.) Anyway, that's my brain when it comes to this little trip. Once I lost the original camping posting due to some freak computer glitch, I sort of lost the will to blog about it ever again, but I feel I owe it to my kids to have it properly documented for their sake. Otherwise, they may never believe that it actually happened. Nothing like a little crazy Mom guilt to light a fire under my ass. 

Alright, buckle up! Here we go:

Here, we have a very handsome & robust Dan, modeling his camping backpack from the days of his camping bachelorhood (he's a man of SO many talents, that husband of mine). He was very excited to show me how much crap this thing could actually contain. If you look below his elbow closely, you can see that there's even a compartment for toilet paper. Such a smart backpack! Camping learned lesson #1: it's really helpful when you go camping with a husband who is so giddy to be reunited with nature, he'll even pose for backpack pictures.

I realize my awesome photography skills didn't capture much else but glare in this photo, but if you strain to look through that, you will see our very jam-packed car. Camping learned lesson #2: Camping with children requires a whole lot of stuff. What you see in this car is basically everything we own. I was nervous I'd forget SOMEthing and then be miserable for 48 hours, but in reality, I don't think we utilized half of what we brought. Rookies!

Here the kids are strapped in & ready to roll, but not unlike dogs, could probably sense Mama's tense nerves and were probably experiencing a tummy butterfly or two themselves. On second thought, maybe they were just scared things were going to crush them, because please notice the mountain of cargo behind them.

Here, Ella is like, "You guys are crazy and make me want to jump out of this dang car seat, but you do always feed me, so therefore I'll stick around and surrender to this chaos." For a baby under 2, she really is wise beyond her years. Also, aren't her rag-a-muffin pigtails the cutest you've ever seen?

Here, Ben is like, "Doesn't this blue shirt bring out my gorgeous blue eyes? Also, are we there yet? WHY DOES IT LOOK LIKE WE'RE STILL PARKED IN THE GARAGE?"

So fast forward the fairly uneventful 60+ minute car ride up to Big Basin, and now we've arrived. Except timing wasn't our greatest strength that day because we didn't have much daylight left, and I won't lie; there was some panic as the fellas set up camp. The realization of- wait, there are zero light switches we get to flip when it gets dark- slowly set in. Nobody wants to set up a (ginormous) tent in the darkness. So the boys huddled up, devised a plan, and got to work. My Dan is on the left, our dear friend (the "other" Dan) is on the right. Please notice his kneepads- this is serious camping business. 

They saved the day! Tent assembled! Number of injuries: 0. Sounds like the perfect time to open a bottle of wine! 

Isn't it breathtakingly gorgeous? Those giant wonderful trees! The delicious fresh air! Even the dirt was sort of pretty. Side note: our Mercedes-of-a-tent came fully loaded with a "front porch" area. I was sort of hoping it would be equipped with electricity as well, but I guess we had an older model.

This is Ben's semi-new favorite person in his world, and his name is Gavin. If you met him, you would want to hug him and squeeze his cheeks because he is hands-down one of the sweetest little boys on earth and has the voice of an angel. He's one of those kids who I'm hoping will forever infect Ben with his sweet, innocent boyishness. I love when they spend time together, and basically, camping was one big Ben & Gavin fest. I've never seen two boys so happy to be together, and so happy to be downright dirty.

Ben, being a scary jungle animal of sorts. And sweet Gavin- even when he's trying to be scary he's just exudes cuteness.

So remember how one of my big camping concerns was what the heck to do all day long (specifically, #6 on my top 10 list)? This was it! We sat and  learned to play a new favorite game, Mexican Train. I don't even play dominoes in any form, but this was great. Then of course, there was some beer drinking.

Then we went on a big group hike, which was lovely....until Ben's legs got too tired to keep moving. Then it got tricky. Learned camping lesson #3 : 4 miles is about 2 miles too many for a 4 year old hiker who hasn't napped. But it was gorgeous, and I got in touch with my inner hiker. She's a tigress!

Ben was thrilled to find a real-life fuzzy caterpillar:

Ella was thrilled to learn that Auntie Liz was willing to carry her a heck of a lot more than Mommy was willing. So they had some quality girl time so that Mommy could continue in Operation Laziness, and drink her beer in peace.

More friendly camping nothingness. Camping learned lesson #4: doing nothing and sitting outside is wonderful.

Here we are on our 2nd (and final) night, preparing a feast fit for a king. You might think I'm joking, but just wait for it...

Well hello perfectly marbled, gorgeous salmon! You're so cute with your pretty lemon slices-- but wait! What's this I see? Are you stuffed on the inside?!

Why yes, you are! What on earth did I do to deserve this royal treatment???? Guys, it was like manna pouring down from the heavens. Being the sushi junkie that I am, I had to stop my hand from picking it up and just eating it raw. Can you blame me?

And all I had to do was provide a black bean salad! (Don't get me wrong- the black bean salad was rad....anytime a recipe includes onion, mango & cilantro on the ingredient list, you KNOW it's going to be scrumptious. I don't even think this is a matter of opinion- it just is). The salmon (a.k.a. manna) was provided and prepared courtesy of our new friends, Rikki & Jack. (Hi Rikki & Jack! Want to go camping again?) Here is where I will mention that Jack is a real life chef...how could I NOT fall in love with camping??? Camping learned lesson #5 : Always go camping with a chef. Here they are, our Salmon Sugar-Parents:

Here's the full spread. Not too shabby for a camping trip, eh? If I was to caption this picture, it would say: Melon salad, veggies and bread, beautiful manna-salmon, three bean salad. AND WINE. Yes, as I recall, the wine was deeeeelightful. We even set up a separate table designated as "The Bar". 

This is the part of the evening when our bellies were full of salmon and wine, so we just smiled and took a bunch of photos. Here: the Findricks & Stublers

Me, Christina & Rikki. Don't you dare look at my camping greasiness!

Dewigs (minus Ben- where did Ben go? Oh right- to Gavin-land) + Findricks:

The night ended as any quintessential camping trip night should: with s'mores (Ben's 1st, my 1,001st)).... 

...And with glow stick swords! (Thanks for this picture, Kasia!)

Overall, what do I think about camping? Let me put it this way: my birthday is coming up in a month, and I'm thinking a camping trip might be in order.I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship...

T Minus 3 Days

Image via Wikipedia

The family's first camping trip (EVER) begins in 3 days. Here's how I'm handling the nervous anticipation and tackling my camping fears: basically, I'm expecting to hate it.

I realize to some, this might sound like a terrible attitude problem that needs some adjustments, but in my mind, all I'm doing is placing zero expectations on the experience. That way, it can only exceed my presumptions and pleasantly surprise me if things should happen to go well. It's my own version of "expect the worst, hope for the best". So you see, it's not that I have a bad attitude; I just have a disappointment-proof outlook. And for the record, I've noticed that the more wine we plan on bringing, somehow the trip becomes even more disappointment-proof.

Alright, Big Basin Redwoods State Park, bring on your bugs and dirt and smokey hair campfires and meals from cans! Let's do this thing!

God-babies

Dan & I have never been godparents before, and then much to our surprise (and sheer delight), we were asked to be godparents twice over in the span of one week! I cannot tell you the tremendous joy and deep honor this has brought both of us; I feel so blessed to spend my lifetime developing special relationships with these two sweet little angels. And I know I might be slightly biased, but I think even Cinderella's fairy godmother would have to agree that I have the world's cutest godchildren. I don't know if body nibbling was in the godmother job description, so sometimes I have to stop myself from nibbling their cheeks, thighs and toes. Can you blame me?

Also, did I mention that they're cousins, and about two months apart in age? I'm in heaven. And I'm in love. And when they spit up on me, it's so adorable that I don't even mind.

Cyberspace, please meet Baby Siobhan and Baby Mick:

(See? I wasn't joking. The cuteness factor is off the charts. And the thigh rolls of love??? To die for).

An Honorable Defense (almost)

Have I mentioned before that Ben isn't a huge fan of change? And by change, I mean Dan returning to work after having been home for a week on Spring Break. I learned this is enough change to tip his scales and send him into an unfortunate phase that is pure defiance mixed in with a healthy dose of destruction (namely breaking a pencil into 1,000 pieces, and then putting those pieces down the heater vent in Ella's room....)

And I am oh so done with it. My patience went extinct days ago. In fact, I must have said under my breath half a dozen times, "when did my sweet baby boy turn into an almost 4 year old little punk?"

Of course Mommy still loves you, Little Bug.
And you're not really a punk you're just behaving like one. They're completely different, I promise.

But. Since we've already broached the subject, Benjamin Daniel....

I've got some questions. Must you really destroy everything you get your hands on? Must you take that evil tone with me EVERY time you address me? Must you cause such rascality in the morning hours that I'm already frazzled before showering? On those particular mornings, I'm riddled with apprehension, just anticipating the unfolding of The Drama you've gotten so good at creating. Because at least when we're at home, we can have our World War III battles in private, but when we're in public, I feel like I have to censor every word that comes out of my mouth for fear of suspicious nearby eavesdroppers who might take my words grossly out of context. And then when all else fails, I try to scoop you up in my arms and ever so gently secure you in your car seat, turn on some happy tunes (ABBA usually does the trick), and wait for the grumpy storm to pass. Sometimes this means listening to ABBA far longer than any person should in one day.

So I suppose it's safe to say we've hit a bit of a rough patch, Ben & I. And while 99% of it is difficult and exhausting there is that one tee tiny 1% that keeps me from having a complete mental breakdown: his 1-2 line rebuttals. They are borderline genius and totally random so I thought I'd highlight some of my favorites that were thrown at me this week (and no, I don't make this stuff up):

Me: Ben, why are you behaving this way?
Ben: Mama, little boys just don't know what they're doing. We don't know, Mama. So, you can't get mad at little boys, okay?
*******************
Me: Ben, we're not watching any TV right now. Please stop asking me.
Ben: But Mama, I'm just feeling a little bit SHOWY. Do you know what that means? Showy just means that I need to watch a show. So, let's just put on a show, and then I won't feel showy, okay Mama?
*******************
Me: You need to stay right here next to me when we're in the parking lot.
Ben: But I need to watch those girls!
Me: Why?
Ben: Because they're so pretty!
*******************
Ben: Mom, did you know that I'm the Director of this house?

*******************

Sweet child of mine, you need to hurry up and end this little phase. It's unbecoming. Furthermore, it's almost your 4th birthday, and I really want to have wonderful, heart-warming things to say when that day draws near. But right now, if nothing else, I guess I can commend you for sprinkling your tantrums with a dash of slick wit. Clearly, you are the fruit of my loins.

Male Bonding

Dan arrived home today looking weary-eyed and dejected after a particularly grueling day at work. It breaks my heart to see him suffer in any capacity, especially in the realm of work-related stress because Lord knows the man works harder than anyone I know, and adding any extraneous pressure to his already overflowing workload somehow feels unjust. But that's just me and my unbiased little opinion. And although these days or moments of job-related tensions are few and far between, I found myself in a mild state of panic, racking my brain on the words and actions I needed to contrive to bring my husband comfort and support. Though this may come as an alarming shock to some (bite your tongues), I tend to be the more...."emotionally-spirited" spouse in our marriage, where Dan is typically the calm, cool and collected rock that anchors us. I tend to scream and yell and cry and complain and excel at sharing EVERY EMOTION I HAVE. He's gotten really good at looking at me with raised eyebrows and telling me to relax. It's a marriage made in heaven.

So, the mild state of panic. But what could I say, really? What do you say to someone who is visibly in the moment, working something out in their head?

I helplessly listened, I tried to offer loving support and insight. I waited for him to decompress in a way that I would decompress: talking. Talking to close friends, talking to family, blogging (my silent form of talking). Talking, talking, talking. And then sleep. And probably a little shopping. And hopefully a no-water, soy chai latte. Grande.

But tonight, it was Ben's turn to became his rock, and he didn't even know it.

After dinner, the two of them practically sat in silence while playing with Ben's wooden blocks. They sat there next to each other, in complete unison, building, thinking, designing, and occasionally verbalizing their engineering strategies. There was some obvious bonding occurring, and the two of them were in a zone of testosterone that I could not enter, nor did I want to. That's when it struck me how different we are; in times like these, Dan craves the quiet solace of "the cave" and I run from it, screaming like a crazy person. While I find incredible consolation in talking "it" out, in this moment, I think Dan derived the exact equivalence within the comfort of his home, holding his boy in practical silence. Building castles and towers and buildings and helicopters.

Sufficed to say, I think Ben earned himself a sticker on his chart today, fair and square.

High-Low

I am desperately trying, as Mama Hen of my little nest, to make dinner hour a more pleasant event in our home. Trying to have a peaceful dinner hour (and by hour, I mean 15 minutes) where intelligent and pleasant conversation is exchanged is just not a reality right now. I have already added this to my list of "Someday We'll Be Able To________(fill in the blank), But Right Now It's Just Not Going To Happen". Usually dinner is a mad dash to the finish where Dan & I hardly get a word in edgewise because Ben just so happens to be the chattiest boy I've ever come across, and Ella barks out obtrusive squawking noises from her highchair to communicate things like, "I love that" or "I hate that", or "gimme gimme" or "I'm going to throw this at you now".  So we duck for cover, we eat, we listen to Ben and we try to give the illusion that we have control over our chaos.

Obviously, this is challenging. I miss the days of knowing what's actually happening in my husband's world. I miss hearing about his day at work, I miss hearing the funny stories (because as a highschool teacher, he's got a bunch). I miss the days of eating dinner sans indigestion. I miss sitting at the table once we're done eating just for the sake of sitting. For the sake of continuing conversation. Sure, I love what the kids bring to the table. I love their humor and their lighthearted little spirits, but I often wonder- is any of this sinking in? Is this special to them on any level? Do they recognize or appreciate the efforts that went into making this dinner possible? I've only ever heard and read about those families who sit in front of the TV while eating their dinner. But honestly, on some night's, that sounds downright heavenly.

So to help bring our individual worlds together, we implemented an somewhat-efficient way to communicate. When we remember, and when we're not too busy feeding our faces at the dinner table, we like to talk about our High & Low points of the day.

Today, my Low was finding my sunglasses and a piece of mail in the toilet, swimming together with whatever Ben left behind and forgot to flush away. Which made me realize two things: 1) There needs to be more strict enforcement of the "FLUSH EVERY TIME" rule in our house, and 2) I should just always leave my sunglasses in the car.

But then, because there is a God, there was a High. A moment I've anticipated for quite some time. Ben towed Ella on the back of his tricycle for almost 15 minutes this afternoon, and they both laughed and enjoyed it. This might not sound like anything special, but I assure you- once you've discovered mail and sunglasses in your toilet, anything remotely positive makes you feel on top of the world.

Some photo documentation of my High for your viewing pleasure (I'll spare you the photos of my Low. You're welcome):

 

 

Pop Culture, 101

Ever since Ella started walking, her relationship with Ben has been taken to a whole new level. I've waited for this stage for 15 months, and I knew with her sassy little 'tude, she'd be able to stand up to his almost-four-year-old zaniness. No longer is she the delicate baby who can't do much but fuss and potentially get in the way of his boyish playtime. In his eyes, now she is fair game, and he isn't interested in wasting any more time. By golly, there are months' worth of games he needs to educate her about! He's tried teaching her about the game of Tag which, so far, seems to be their most successful game. In our house, a game is successful if the quantity of laughs outnumber the quantity of tears. Yesterday they both willingly participated in a somewhat organized match of wrestling. Half the time I couldn't even see them but about every 5 seconds yelled out "BE GENTLE WITH HER!" for good measure. I like to refer to this method as "Halfway Parenting". In a pinch, it works wonders.

And then today a new game was born. I think this game is called Intro to Pop Culture, and it has me deeply afraid. As I was cleaning up breakfast this morning, Ben & Ella were playing together quietly in the living room. And I overheard a very frustrated Ben say this to my sweet & innocent baby girl:

"NO, SISSY! (his affectionate nickname for Ella) You can't walk away from me because I'm being Super Man, and you have to be Lady Gaga! Okay? OKAAAAAAY, SISSY? BE LADY GAGA! Mama, sissy's not being Lady Gaga!"

 Ella, sweetheart, Mommy is begging you: please don't be Lady Gaga.

How or when or where he heard of Lady Gaga, I'm not really sure. I tried to inquire about how he knew her name, but he was still hyper-focused on being Super Man, who had a universe to save and a pop star to charm. And so it begins; he already doesn't have enough time in his day for his poor mother.

What can I do? Nothing. We already went almost four whole years without the words "kill" or "gun" entering his vocabulary, and I regard that as hugely successful considering how it was just a matter of time before he'd create a gun out of a toy screwdriver and pretend to kill me with it. So for now I'm perplexed, playing it cool, and putting all TV viewing on heightened security. But trust me, if either of my kids so much as hum the tune to "Poker Face", I am SO calling a shrink. 

Strangers

The other day I was unloading my kids in the Trader Joe's parking lot in a hurry, getting ready for a major grocery trip. I was anticipating the chaos that is a grocery store full of busy moms & crying children all trying to squeeze down narrow aisles simultaneously, and already beginning to feel stressed without even stepping a foot in the door. Which reminds me, Attention All Store Managers: Here's a tip.You should probably offer moms a Mimosa when they walk in your door. If you do, I predict these moms will relax, smile more, yell at their kids less, and probably inadvertently buy more stuff. Irish coffee would also do the trick as well. Or sake. Oh, how I love me a glass of hot sake....
But I digress.

So I had just put Ella in the stroller, Ben was beside me, when a cute little old lady who had parked next to us came and approached us. I always make an effort to be extra sweet to little old ladies like this because most of the time they just want to fawn over my children and enjoy the undeniable (what? I'm not biased!) cuteness they posses. Many of these women proudly share with me sweet little anecdotes about their own children/grandchildren, or some just miss their own grandchildren so desperately that they simply can't resist doting on every child in sight. My children are creatures of habit, so when we're approached in this manner, they've learned over time to flash a smile and wave hi or shake these ladies' hands or blow kisses, etc. And this inevitably brightens these ladies' day, so they walk away happy and I walk away happy and proud of my cute kids who smiled at the nice stranger. Everyone wins.

This was not the case with this particular woman.

At first, everything started as per usual. She made comments about my "fancy" stroller and how she never had anything like it when she was a young mom herself. She touched a couple of my things as she was admiring my stroller but it didn't really bother me because after all, she was just a sweet old woman. She began talking to my kids and commented how cute they were when suddenly she had to ruin everything and ask what was on Ella's face. Is it some sort of rash, she wanted to know, looking at us as if she'd just been exposed to a leper. Then I had to delve into my rehearsed monologue about how Ella simply has a bad case of eczema which is nothing more than severely dry skin, and how she gets flare-ups on her chubby little cheeks depending on the season, what she eats, etc.

In hindsight, sharing this innocent tidbit of information was a mistake of giant proportions.

Suddenly, this woman- let's call her "Sue", shall we?-- begins sharing with me her own skin ailments. And by sharing, I mean slowly (EVER SO PAINFULLY SLOOOOOOWLY) bending over to show me her swollen ankles that have suffered from various rashes for years and oh my heavens she must have a strong case of eczema as well. Then there was the large part of her mid-brow that is constantly dry and itchy. And flaking. Look?! Do I see the flakes? I might need to get closer so I can REALLY see her dry flakes. Such a shame to have such flake-prone skin, Sue claimed. And this is when I realized two things: 1) I've never heard anyone use variations of the word "flake" so many time in one sentence, and 2) Maybe Sue isn't totally....."with it", shall we say? I'm smiling on the outside, but internally I just want to get inside that store and get this stressful shopping trip overwith already. This is when she hits me with: (brace yourself because apparantly not all 72 year old women speak as tactfully as I had always assumed)

"You know, skin issues are just a BITCH! [Cue Ben's wide-eyed curious wonderment] I mean, I can handle my body getting older because if something hurts, if I get a headache, I just pop a pill and BOOM! All better! But these skin problems!? A BITCH! Oh, and don't even get me started on the yeast infections underneath my breasts that I used to constantly have. [OH.MY.GOSH. Is this some sort of sick prank???? Am I being punked?] Those breast yeast infections are the worst! I mean, can you imagine how miserable a perpetual yeast infection underneath your breasts would be? You know, all you hear about in today's culture is how great it is to have large breasts* [*this is not the actual word she used, but sometimes family reads this blog of mine, and I'm so embarrassed and disappointed by "Sue's" potty mouth that I felt it necessary to censor her. But call me anytime and I'll tell you what she really said....] but I say, who needs those big breasts? They're nothing but trouble! If I had much smaller breasts, I probably never would have suffered from such terrible yeast infections. My daughter, she has small breasts, and I used to tell her all the time how very lucky she was for being blessed with such small little breasts....."

For those of you who may have forgotten, keep in mind that I AM STILL IN THE PARKING LOT, for heaven's sakes! Trying to get inside the store! With my two very patient and innocent children! And somehow we fell target to this woman's unfortunate skin & breast complications. And the entire time, all I'm really thinking is....WOW. Nothing motivates me to grocery shop for food more than stories of skin flakes and yeast problems.

Eventually, I simply had to walk away from "Sue" but not before she delved into a very juicy Chapter 2 of her ailing woes, entitled "Having My Tubes Tied 34 Years Ago". I did a lot of smiling and nodding at her, grabbed Ben's hand and started walking as fast as possible in the opposite direction. Needless to say, the whole experience was downright awful. I've never had a stranger over-share such an abundance of repelling personal information in a 5 minute time span.

Once inside the store, an understandably confused Ben turned to me and asked, "Mommy who was that lady?" And I said, "Buddy, that was a crazy woman who spoke too much about herself and didn't know how to keep things private. And so when we get home, I want to talk to you about something called 'strangers', and why it's not okay to talk to them."

From now on, if I get approached by an older person, I'm going to pretend to be mute. Tough stuff, lesson learned.

Trade Off

My children are both incredibly sleep sensitive. Which means that if they miss their naps or if they don't sleep as long as their overly-delicate bodies require, they turn into little children monsters. Ben becomes incredibly crazy, sometimes literally banging his head into a corner wall or experimenting with climbing up the wall. Ella becomes fussy and only comforted if I sit in a specific chair, hold her a specific way, don't move a muscle and declare from the rooftops that my whole world NOW REVOLVES AROUND HER. Also, I know for a fact they conspire ways to team up and torment their mother (because I've totally seen them "huddled up" and I'm sure Ben has some sort of power-point presentation up his sleeve that maps out the whole darn strategy. Ben is the brains behind the operation, and sweet Ella just wants to please her big brother. How did I become chopped liver in this equation? Must I remind them the number of hours I was in labor with them? Or the PAIN I endured to bring them in this world? MUST I? Because we have DVD footage of both deliveries, children. And I am NOT AFRAID to unveil them.)

***WINE BREAK***

And, exhale.

On these particular days, I can become flustered to the point of literally pulling my hair out when Dan walks through the door. Today was one of those days. If I had to grade my kids on their napping performance today, both children would score a "D+". And it's only in the generous D range because I'm writing this post-wine break. So instead of greeting Dan with a sweet hello darling this afternoon, it was something more along the lines of, "YOU MUST DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR CHILDREN."

Which I think I scared him because off the three of them went into Ben's room for a very, very long time.

But here's the thing. The bad news is that on days such as these I don't get much "down time" during the day, I don't get to enjoy a peaceful uninterrupted lunch or quiet respite before the afternoon/dinner madhouse rush. And usually on these days I choke down my dinner, battling indigestion with every bite I take as the children-monsters cry and complain and practically BEG for bedtime. Dan & I are lucky if we get one sentence in at the dinner table. Sometimes Ben is so wired-tired that he'll just fall out of his chair for no reason. You get the idea...a real Norman Rockwell kind of scenario.

And now, for the good news. It's 6:30, the children monsters have left and sleeping angels have taken their places. I'm now on my second glass of wine, the house is quiet, and Dan and I are in alone-time heaven. We're preparing to decorate the tree and have entire conversations where we will have the opportunity to complete our sentences and/or have entire thought processes. Who knows, maybe we'll even get crazy and stay up past 10.  People, stop the press because this is what we call a Christmas Miracle.

So everyone, please raise your glasses. Oh. Just me? Okay, my glass has been raised. Cheers! Here's to a new day tomorrow, where I will have the opportunity to do it all over again! I'm off to give Dan a well-deserved high five.

Nighty-night my sleeping angels. Sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.

Affirmations

Image via Wikipedia

This morning while Ben and I were watching Sesame Street together, two wonderful things happened. The first is this ridiculously hilarious skit that you must all treat yourselves to viewing (here's an enticement: it's entitled Desperate Houseplants). We've seen this many times before and always appreciate it, for different reasons of course. Ben gets a complete kick out of the fact that I am getting a complete kick out it. Until Ben came along, I hadn't seen much Sesame Street since I was a kid, so it's been a blast to see what they are doing on the show these days. I don't think this is dependent upon whether or not you have kids AND I do not think it's a matter of opinion. IT'S FUNNY! Also, if you're a fan of 30 Rock, then it's essential you check this one out, too. I think I've just added "Writer for Sesame Street" to my bucket list. What a bunch of geniuses.

The second great thing of this morning was when Ben turned to me at some point and said,

"Someday, I will grow up to be a Mom. Not a bad Mama, I will grow up to be a good Mama. Just like you."

Obviously, the moment was too precious to squelch it with explanations of how & why he can only ever be a daddy and never be a mommy. So I just nodded and smiled and kissed his chubby little cheek. Man oh man, I love that kid.

An Angel

The other day I was at Target with the kids and after chowing down on a well-deserved Target snack, we were making our way out the door. We walked past a mom with a very tee tiny little baby in her arms. The baby was SO small, it looked like it must have just popped out a couple hours beforehand. But I was quite taken with how beautiful this baby was. Usually it takes awhile for babies to grow into their cuteness, but not this one. I couldn't help myself, and said to the sweet mom, "Oh my goodness, look at that precious angel! How old is she?" To which she replied, 5 days old. Then I told her how beautiful her baby was, and we were out the door and on our way home.

Later, as we were arriving home and pulling into the garage, Ben every so sweetly said to me from his car seat, "Mama? Remember when we saw a precious angel today? She was SO CUTE, wasn't she?!"

God is so smart because He knows that Moms who have mischievous 3 year old boys need precious moments, such as these, to replenish their patience and tolerance. It's a good thing he's so gosh darn cute...

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