A day of rest and rejuvenation, of just us and nobody else, a day to remember that sometimes it’s okay to slow down and eat a homemade Sunday dinner, take a long nap, trek through the woods, find the glory in everywhere we are.
Thankful on Friday morning for reflections from Thursday….
On Wednesday we celebrated Joshua’s birthday and though I’ve got a post coming exclusively dedicated to why I am so blessed to have him, I wanted to take a minute and remind myself that I don’t have to raise my kids, clean my house, build a life…alone. I was given a partner and I am thankful everyday for him.
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| Madelynne wanted him to wear a birthday crown, so of course he did once I promised it wouldn’t be a princess crown. |
This week I’ve been thankful for swim lessons, for people who are confident, patient, and firm with my children in a way that makes them want to do and succeed. And I got a little glimpse of what Madelynne must be like in a classroom. I’ll start praying now for her first grade teacher.
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| I think at this moment they were told to splash, but Madelynne had a habit of splashing even when her feet were supposed to be out of the water. |
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| Pretending to like each other. |
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| Her version of a dive. We’ll have to work on it. She says she could do it if we’d buy a house with a pool. |
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| Learning to swim on top of the water as opposed to under it. |
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| This is the child who wouldn’t dare go under water last summer. Way to go Annabelle! |
Finally, I’m thankful for the house wine of the South that gets me through all these hot summer days with shrill girls, wet bathing suits left in the car, and piles of library books that are overdue. ahhhh…..sweet tea. There’s nothing like it. Thank you, McDonald’s for making it cost a dollar and for putting in unsweet when I ask so I feel less guilty.
A friend of mine sent me a link to her daughter’s new blog and the first post I read was this one. The idea of baring the inside of my fridge for all the internet world seems to be the perfect Perfectly Imperfect post. See if I told you that last night I made some awesome “Kicked Up French Toast” with cream cheese and blueberries and fluffy scrambled cheese eggs on the side and then I posted this picture:
you might mistakenly think I have a fully stocked fridge filled with all sorts of yummy goodness. In fact, my fridge looks like this:
It’s pathetically empty. And that half-drunk gatorade is at least two weeks old. Thank goodness this week is two paychecks and awesome grocery store sales. I might even brave our new Wal-mart in search of items to fill our shelves. This make up dinner from what’s on hand gig is getting more challenging everyday.
On a side note, today is Joshua’s birthday. I didn’t buy him a gift. What do you get a man who has everything and this morning when I ask again what he wants, says, “I’d like some coffee.”
Done. Now let’s see what else I can do perfectly today.
Summer looks different when you’re a mommy.
A few summers ago (seven to be exact), I would wake when Joshua left for work and indulge in a book or a morning nap or a mindless day of puttering around not really worrying about all the items I didn’t cross off my to-do list today because there was always tomorrow.
Then I became a mommy. Mommies don’t really get the same kind of summer vacation. I’m sure my husband who leaves at 7 a.m. and sometimes doesn’t return until 7 p.m. would beg to differ but this is my blog, so too bad.
Sure, I realize I’m blessed to be home with them all day everyday. Yes, I get to go to the pool if I feel up to the challenge of making them get out of it when playtime’s over.
Yes, I get to take them on picnics to the lake and let them swim and then spend the next half hour wrangling them out of wet suits and shrieking, “Don’t stand in that shower barefoot!” Or explaining that if you lay your towel in the sand, you will in fact get sandy when you try to dry off with said towel.
Yes, we go to the library for books and get dirty looks from all the people who can’t wait for summer reading program to be over so that lady with the squealing toddler will stop coming and interrupting their precious quiet reading time.
These days my quiet time consists of putting Amelia down for a nap and listening to her test out her vocal range for up to 45 minutes while I ponder the fine differences between grocery stores sales list because we need lunch food and supper stuff and something besides cereal for breakfast occassionally.
I love it, I do. I’m blessed. And I chose it from here on out. But sometimes I wish I had appreciated carefree days more before I had kids. And I wish I’d done more then, so maybe I wouldn’t have so much to do now.
She thinks she’s a super hero. A baby who can climb the ladder to the top of sissies’ bunk beds, can figure out that the kitchen chair to the top of the table isn’t too high and puts her at an advantage for more Frosted Flakes, one who truly believes that an arm cross and a firm “uh-uh” is going to save her from the agony of another nap.She’s only 16 months old. Sheesh, what am I going to do?
It’s not even July yet, and she’s already learned so many habits from those sissy monsters. Like how to color outside the lines (or on the coffee table), how to slide down the big water slide at the Elrod’s, how to give a grin that melts my heart and my resolve. What a mess.
I love it. I hate it. I miss my baby who cooed and snuggled and stayed in one place.
But she’s gone. And in her place is a sweet little Millie-Monster who has a fiery temper, a feisty temperment, and a fresh take on being the baby.
Her sisters call her a big girl already. Especially when I defend her for making a mess of Madelynne’s dollhouse or destroying the artwork hung too low on the fridge. “She’s NOT a baby!” They tell me emphatically. Well, maybe not. But she’s my baby.
She’s talking more, though “uh-uh” and “uh-huh” she deems sufficient for everything. We’re working on please, but at least she’ll attempt “thank you” after she gets what she wants. Last night she made me read her favorite lift-the-flap books a half dozen times so she could moo and buzz and oink.
Sometimes the only way she’ll decide she’s through with dinner and demanding “moe, moe!” is when Daddy says, “Are you ready for a bath?” Head bobbing and arms up, she babbles, “Baff, baff!”
She’s a water bug. Later this week, I’ll post swim lesson pictures. She’s most put out she’s not participating. Yet another activity for the sissies. No wonder she wants to grow up.
