Friday.
I just want to provide a healthy, holistic, happy, farm-like environment for my kids to grow up in. The chickens don't get it. They invaded my garden. After discovering this and what they had done, I suddenly found myself in the dirt, sucking my thumb, in the fetal position, asking for my mommy. Here lies a fully grown kale plant. There were five of them, actually...
So I buried my sorrows by thrusting myself facedown in baked chili cheese fries that, according to the kids, were ewey. And no, I didn't wait for the cheese to melt.
In between dinner and dessert, I had to muster up the strength to pick up a 25-pound sack of spelt grain, yams, and a case of olives the delivery guy forgot to give me on Monday. Nutrition for my family isn't so convenient. I came home to find that my husband decided not to let the raw espresso fudge cake with raspberry frosting set. At least he seemed to like the new recipe...
11:45 pm, after finding me in the kids' miniature shower, hopelessly splashing water from the neck-height faucet to my face, Buddy-the-elf-style, Jeremy realized it was time. The master bathroom shower simply had to be unclogged. Somewhere in between squeamishly anticipating what might be unearthed and bringing up that first small hairball, it turned into a fishing tournament of sorts. He had to catch the big one. He did. But I will spare you from the trophy image. Picture a tangled, soggy wig and you'll get the general idea.
After all the excitement from our homemade episode of "The Deadliest Catch," I decided to give myself the night off. The dishes were going to have to wait until tomorrow. I was wiped out.
Saturday.
20-month-old decided to teethe throughout most of the night and begin her morning at 6:30. She was hungry. Into the kitchen we trudged. The sink likes to take revenge when I neglect it. It vomited dirty dishes at me.
20-month-old decided she was actually tired. At lunchtime.
Ever hear the saying, "Never wake a sleeping baby?" Down she went, cowgirl boots, crumby, sticky, peanut-butter-and-honeyed face and all. I needed to change her sheets, anyway. There's nothing quite as peaceful as watching a sleeping baby. And there's nothing quite as stressful as trying to keep her that way while three cabin-fevered kids sprint up and down the hallway.
As I stumbled out of her room, I found myself outside, attempting to somehow resuscitate the garden. It looked like I wouldn't have much time. After two weeks of constant rain, it seemed we were about to get more. Do you want to know a secret? I was glad. It was the perfect excuse for more comfort cooking, reading, and cuddling under cozy blankets. And maybe even sleeping.
Sleep is overrated, according to 20-month-old. So, with her on my hip, I remembered to feed myself some leftovers for lunch. Mmm, they were happy leftovers.
Back outside we went. We found that Daddy had laid fresh straw down for the hens. It all looked so pretty.
"Hey, I'm layin' here!"
Seriously, isn't that gorgeous?
After a week of sickness in the house, it was time to rediscover the world. Fist stop: In-n-Out Burger. Gulp. For some reason, Daddy insisted on taking a break from the raw recipes I was experimenting with... The kids and I ate our dinner in the van while Daddy set up for the benefit he was playing at; our next adventure for the night. As I gagged down some of their coffee purely for it's medicinal value (it had to have been brewed 12 hours earlier), the kids piled into the seat next to me, munching on fries, and saying with delight that this was the best night ever. Perspective.
Feeling rather intrusive with four wired kids at the grown-up benefit, I futilely tried to keep them in a back corner. 4-year-old's favorite part of the night? Deciding to become a cheer leader up at the very front.
8-year-old's favorite part was sitting next to daddy on stage while he played his songs. I give you high-quality, iPhone footage...
It was 8:00; an hour past 20-moth-old's bedtime and right at the rest of our kids' bedtimes. I was ready for bed, not another get-together at an un-child-proofed house, no less. But... off we went. And it was great. The kids had a blast with the other family who brought their kids. 5-year-old's favorite part was the massage chair...
and 20-month-old's favorite was this boxer puppy, appropriately named Grace.
Home at 10:00. The youngest two were fast asleep in their car seats. It was a 5-minute drive.
Weekends sure have changed with kids. Sometimes, it's easy to enjoy motherhood. Other times, my kids remind me of how amazing they are and what an honor it is being their mama, just by them being them, doing their thing. It might have been slightly mortifying when 5-year-old ran up to the stage and shot out peace signs to the left, center, and right audiences while Jeremy was playing. But it is something I'll never forget, and if I'm really honest, I took delight in that moment. When he ran back down to me with pride and said, "Mommy, did you hear all those people laughing? They were laughing because of me!" Hilarious.
I might not have glamorous weekends out, but I do have these memories to cherish now, and a life filled with amazing little people who won't be little anymore when I blink two more times. Then the glamorous weekends out will recommence. I didn't mean for this post to be sappy and cliché and sentimental. It kind of did that on it's own. I take no responsibility. I haven't slept in a while. But I'm glad. Life is full. I choose to enjoy it.
Links: Weekend Warriors
Links: Weekend Warriors
