So a lot’s happened in the last 9 years…

Have you ever met a blogger that goes almost 9 years between posts? You have now. Is blogging even a thing anymore, or are vlogging and TikTok the only ways of life? I have no interest in creating or editing social media content so I’ll stick with this for now.

I went back and read through some of my old posts from when I was a tattered mom of one toddler, my final post discussing my second pregnancy. I had to laugh. And shake my head and roll my eyes and giggle. It’s funny how different things were back then, the challenges so far off from the challenges we have now. Not better or worse, just different. Nine years changes things quite a bit, so let’s see if I’m able to recap a near decade in a paragraph or less…

The original subject of my blog is now 13 and in his 8th grade year. High school is looming. He’s a cool kid; very small for his age, loves sports, lives with ADHD and some anxiety, is creative, funny, and an equal mix of kind-hearted and defiant. My second baby, the subject of my last post before this one, is 8 and in his 2nd grade year. He also loves sports, is creative beyond belief, independent, laser focused, hilarious, equally kind-hearted and defiant. The good days are amazing, the off days are rough. Our life is consumed by school, sports, the usual array of appointments, work, 2 golden retrievers, and trying to keep moving. Downtime is often the enemy with our two boys, so having a healthy mix of activities and time to relax is critical. My biggest challenge outside of normal parenting stuff? Losing myself in all the parenting stuff… “Me time” doesn’t look like it used to, and I’m terrible about putting myself first. Classic mom complaint, right?

That recap barely scratches the surface, but I think it gives enough history for me to jump back into sharing things that are front and center in our life, how we manage, hacks for getting through the days, and maybe an SOS for your help. The most current event is our older son’s weight gain journey (yes, weight GAIN, not weight LOSS). I’d love to share our situation and see if anyone has had a similar experience. ADHD and anxiety are also everyday challenges, and always end up being a great sharing opportunity. School, sports, managing screens, meal planning/prep, and staying active are also hot topics.

I’m happy to be typing again. I hope people still read blogs… How do I reach people without putting our entire life on TikTok? What do YOU want to read about and share? I’ll just toss stuff out there with some hashtags and see what sticks. If nobody bites, I’ll consider this my own personal therapy and that’s a win. Oh yeah, therapy, we’ve got that going on too so I’ll write about it at some point. I often close out my days thinking, “you can’t make this sh&% up.” So very true, but I can definitely write about it…

Cheers.

Gimme Gimme Gimmes vs. Give Give Gives

As the Christmas holiday nears I start thinking about presents (duh).  Buying them, wrapping them, giving just enough without being obnoxious, especially when it comes to our 4-year old.  And I unintentionally start noticing what other parents are getting for their young kids.  Am I doing enough?  Are they doing too much?  Is my son spoiled or is he deprived?  Throughout the year we try to strike a good balance between giving him things he wants and not giving in to his every demand.  Make him feel special but not entitled.  Are we successful?  I think we are, but an outsider looking in may totally disagree.  “Spoiled” is in the eye of the beholder, especially during the holidays.

Our son is our one and only right now.  He’s the only grandchild right now.  So yes, I’d be totally lying if I said he wasn’t spoiled to some degree.  But while it’s the grandparents’ duty to greet him with a little trinket whenever they see him (especially since they all live out of town), it’s my job as a parent to pull on the reigns a little so he understands the process of being rewarded, and why he can’t have every little thing his heart desires.  Well let’s be clear here – we don’t have an unlimited budget to give him every little thing his heart desires…  But even if we did I think we’d still err on the side of conservatism because that’s how my husband and I grew up.  The whole “we’re not here to keep up with the Joneses” cliché was a favorite with my parents.  Ugh I hope I never say that to my kids, even if it’s what I’m thinking…

So back to Christmas.  Fortunately at this stage I think he’s happier opening lots of small, inexpensive stuff rather than one big gift.  More bows, more paper, more trinkets, more this, more that.  Fits the bill at 4 years old right?  Gimme gimme gimme!  So over the course of a couple of months I pick up odds and ends as I’m out running my regular errands.  And I try to keep in mind some of the things we want him to DO in the coming year, not just play with.  Camping with daddy is on the agenda, so he’ll get a cute little sleeping bag from Santa to set the stage.

And that brings me to the extended family.  One of the reasons I remain fairly reserved at Christmas time is because he has 3 sets of grandparents, plus aunts and uncles and cousins who are champing at the bit to load him up.  So for that reason I have to make lists – lots and lots of lists – to come up with ideas not only for Santa (us), but for the other family members as well.  “We’re getting him the sleeping bag, so you get him a lantern.”  “We’re staying away from big toys this year, so you can have at it.”  “He needs a new outfit, so why don’t you handle that.”   And before you know it the living room has exploded with more boxes and bows.

Yes, he’s spoiled in late December.  I realize it and maybe it’s wrong for me to say, but I don’t feel guilty about it.  Instead, I try to balance it out by helping him understand that all kids aren’t as lucky as he is, and that he should be thankful for everything he has.  I let him choose the Angel Tree recipient from the church Christmas tree.  He picks a non-perishable food item to bring to daycare every day during the food drive.  He helps me box up clothes for the Goodwill truck throughout the year.  And he drops change in the Salvation Army bucket every time we pass it.  He’s only 4 so I’m not sure he totally understands what it all means, but I hope we’re giving him a good foundation for being humble and gracious as he grows up.  How does YOUR family balance the gimme gimme gimmes with the give give gives?

Happy holidays!

Ye Ole Noggin

Today I’ve been thinking about my kid’s head.   It’s a nice head – full of unmanageable blonde hair and a little big compared to the rest of his body, but overall it’s a keeper.  It also takes a beating.  I don’t know if it’s a boy thing or if all kids bang up their heads on a regular basis, but Junior’s a pro.

I remember his very first substantial knot; he was maybe a year and a half old.  I was helping him step out of his pants and into his jammies when he got tripped up and smacked the back of his sweet head on the knob of his dresser drawer.  A walnut sized lump popped out immediately; he wailed and I was traumatized.  I was right there but somehow I couldn’t grab him before he hit the deck.  I rushed downstairs looking for frozen peas, crying because I was such an awful, irresponsible mother.  He recovered quickly and I beat myself up for hours.

And they kept coming.  There’s that time we were heading out to catch a ride on the Christmas trolley…  He was walking along when he hit an uneven section of sidewalk; since his hands were in his pockets the only way he could break his fall was with his face, right into a brick wall.  Oh.  My.  God.  The howling, the purple goose egg on his forehead, the bloodied lip, the trolley passengers staring…  Fortunately a Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer sighting was a well-timed distraction.  What a weekend.  Needless to say our Christmas pictures were not as attractive that year.

Whether it’s a forehead to the wall, a tumble off his bike, or most recently a golf club to the face, it’s clear that young kids’ heads are made of concrete.  Somehow his mishaps have only result in bumps and bruises, no open wounds or stitches (how’s that for jinxing myself?).  And even though I’ve become somewhat immune to it now, there’s always that initial “oh shit” gasp before I slow down and gain my composure.  You know the feeling — the internal struggle of “do I apply frozen vegetables or take him to urgent care?”

Peas, cuddles, and a juice box usually do the trick for him, but I always spend a few minutes berating myself for being a sucky parent.  Why can’t I protect my sweet boy from walls and sidewalks and sports equipment?  What’s wrong with me?  Fortunately it’s not too long before I see a post on Facebook about another kid’s stitches or a busted tooth or a broken arm and I realize that we’re all experiencing the same adventures.  I guess a hard-headed kid isn’t such a bad thing after all…

You’re Mad About What??

The blog drought is over, for now at least.  How long has it been since I posted something?  There’s no real reason for the hiatus; the crappy winter resulted in nothing interesting to write, so I didn’t waste my time or yours.  What’s fun about a weekly blog on parent/toddler arguments?  Nothing, so I’ll just sum it up real quick.

This is not my child… Photo courtesy of theconfidentmom.com.

Age 3 has been much more of a parenting challenge for me than 2 ever was.  Between 3 and 3½ I got a hard and fast lesson on stubbornness, defiance, backtalk, and crankiness.  I know it’s all part of Junior’s growing up, learning how to express himself,  having an opinion,  yada yada yada, but some mornings I contemplated walking out of the house and going to work in my bath robe just to escape it.

The funny thing is, Junior is only a grumpasaurus at home; he’s an absolute prince when we’re together with friends and playing with other kids.  So my friends literally don’t believe me when I tell them that he throws tantrums, swats at me, and loses privileges on a fairly regular basis.  A little junior Jekyll & Hyde I suppose.  I’ve taken the liberty of creating a top-10 list of Junior’s greatest (and most illogical) anger-inducing situations.  I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy experiencing them.

10. Syrup placement:  God forbid I drizzle syrup ON his pancake instead of on the side for dipping.

09. Get dressed before we come downstairs for breakfast?  Hellz no!

08. What?  No cartoons during dinner?  Mommy should be deported.

07. Runny nose = tissue only.  Toilet paper, napkins, hankies and any other absorbent items are contraband.

06. “Junior, please pick up your shoes.”  “No YOU do it mommy!”  Uhhhh, what?

05.  “Junior, I need to wash your hair because it smells like a trash can.”  (SCREAMING) “I WANT to smell like a trash can!”  This bathtub episode was great – I got it on video.

04. When and where I blow dry my hair can be a major issue on any given morning.  Tread lightly…

03. Daddy does the occasional morning daycare run.  LOOK OUT.

02. Well let’s face it…  Daddy tries to do any of the usual Mommy stuff (excluding wrestling, tickling, and watching vintage Muppets shows online) and there’s backlash.

01. SOFT PANTS.  Dear Lord, the child wants to wear some form of sweat/jersey/athletic pants every day and doggone it I want him to wear khakis every once in a while.  So we finally came to a mutual agreement that seems to work:  soft pants on Mondays and Fridays, and “handsome” clothes on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.  DEAL.

I’m laughing as I write this because the conflicts we have are so ridiculous.  Fortunately as he approaches 4 he is definitely easing up on some of those idiosyncrasies.  But even if we start the day arguing about sweatpants it’s good to know that the nights usually end with snuggles and story time and bedtime prayers.  Not always, but usually.  He’s an opinionated guy, what can I say?  He’s particular about the order of things; he appreciates a process.  He also falls down and bumps into things a lot, so I’m guessing my DNA is really taking charge in there.  Poor guy – I know how hard it is to be a klutzy type-A person who wishes she could wear sweatpants every day.

This Post Has No Age Limit

I can’t believe I’m about to do this, but here it goes.  I am republishing a prior blog post for the 3rd time.  No, it’s not because I’m lazy.  It’s not because I can’t think of anything else to write.  It’s because there are no other words in my life that are more relevant right now.  Today I contemplated changing my son’s name to Chardonnay or Zinfandel because every time he starts whining I crack open a bottle of wine.  Well, not at 6:30 AM but you get my drift…

Grammar Lesson (originally posted 7/16/2012)

hom·o·phone  [hom-uh-fohn]:  A word pronounced the same as another but differing in meaning, whether spelled the same way or not.  Courtesy:  www.dictionary.com.

Back in middle school we were given some common examples to illustrate this phonetic term:  “carat” and “carrot”; “two” and “too”; “there” and “their”, to name a few.  I’d like to introduce a new, more relevant example that is applicable in my adult life:  “wine” and “whine”.

Wine is a delicious beverage that often encourages feelings of happiness and relaxation.  It can be red, white, or pink, but careful consideration must be given to the pink variety as it can be tricky…  Wine can vary greatly in price, but my experience typically falls in the “$10 or less” category.  Wine is a bright spot in one’s day; the more wine, the brighter the day becomes, until things turn hazy and that means there’s been too much.

Oh how things change when you add one single letter – h – to that lovely word:  wine becomes whine.  Whine is also a regular occurrence in my life, yet it does not lead to feelings of happiness or relaxation.  It comes in one variety only:  annoying.  If I could pay to make it stop I would definitely branch out of the “$10 or less” bucket.  But unfortunately it is a free service provided by my toddler, one from which I cannot unsubscribe, much like junk mail and the Yellow Pages book that still shows up on my doorstep.

It should be noted that there is a distinct cause-and-effect element in play.  Whine (the bad kind) very often leads to wine (the good kind).  Unfortunately that’s not appropriate at 7:45 on a Monday morning, but sometimes I wish it was.  In the evenings, however, a good dose of whine may be matched by a good dose of wine.  And that’s what makes homophones fun.

Birthday Perspectives

Just over a month ago my baby boy turned 3.  We decided it was time to give him a real birthday party at the house with friends, a bounce house, cake and ice cream, and all of the chaos that comes with it.  It was a blast, and I told my husband that I think I had more fun planning his party than I did planning our wedding.  I have a little Martha Stewart buried deep inside of me and it comes out in full force when I know people are coming over, even people under the age of 4.

Junior is a pirate fanatic at the moment, so naturally we had a pirate-themed party.  A pirate bounce house, pirate tablecloths, super cute bandanna hats, eye patches, a homemade treasure chest birthday cake, and buried treasure for the kiddos to take home.  I found a great website for all of the decorations and favors, www.purepirate.com, so if you have a pirate-obsessed child and need some swag you should check it out.  At first I was worried that it was a site dedicated to adults with a weird pirate fetish – and maybe it is – but they had party favors so I went with it…

A 3-year old’s dream come true…

So fun to make! It’s not really leaning to the left; I’m just a bad photographer.

After a long, beautiful, fun fall day of bouncing, running, laughing, eating, and post sugar high crashing, Junior started planning out his life’s adventures when he turns 4.  “When I turn FOUR I can yada yada yada…”  Wow.  Do you remember how much fun it was to turn a year older?  So many things to look forward to…  Starting kindergarten, being “double digits” when you turn 10, becoming a teenager at 13, drivers license at 16, being able to say “well I’m an adult now and I don’t have to listen to you anymore” when you turn 18 and argue with your parents, drinking (legally) when you’re 21, car insurance rates dropping at 25…

Like many people, that stopped for me at some point.  My birthday is exactly 2 weeks after Junior’s and I turned the big 3-5.  I don’t really have an issue with getting older, but I certainly don’t feel excitement about it.  I wonder what it would be like to happily say “when I turn THIRTY SIX I can do this and that and this and that…”  I started my 35^th birthday by dusting the wood blinds downstairs.  And since it was raining Junior and I took a nice trip to Wal-Mart to pick up some necessities.  I’ve never been that person who celebrates a “birthday week” and expects a lot of fanfare and grandeur, and maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I should show a little more excitement about the day I entered this world instead of being so neutral about it.  I should take some cues from Junior who is so excited about what’s ahead for him in the coming year, and how much better life will be when he hits his next age milestone – 4.

Maybe I’ll get a bounce house for my 36^th birthday.

When parenthood is sending me to the nuthouse, this is what I think about.

We’ve all had those periods of time when life seems out of control.  For me, it’s leading a pseudo-single mom life while my husband’s job keeps him away from home most days during the week.  It’s my precious toddler, just shy of his 3^rd birthday, who thinks everything is his way or the highway right now.  If he doesn’t get M&Ms after dinner he hops out of his booster chair and swats at me.  Bedtime means nothing; he’s up 2 or 3 times with every excuse imaginable from “monsters in my room” to “I have to poop.”

I don’t know about you, but eventually I hit my wall.  Granted I’m not the most patient person in general, but I do try to temper it when it comes to Junior.  Tonight I actually told him that if he got out of bed one more time I was going to cancel his birthday party next month.  To a kid so damned excited about turning 3 that he can barely contain himself, that was pretty mean of me.  He did stay in bed after that though.  So as I cleaned up one of a thousand messes tonight, I stopped to reflect on how I react to things and realized that I should actually try to be grateful for the crap that drives me nuts.

In the last year or so I’ve become acquainted with a great company that gives people an easy platform to raise money for any cause that’s important to them.  Since there are no limitations on what someone can fundraise for, you see a diverse range of campaigns.  Everything from church mission trips, to Susan G. Komen, to pet rescue groups, and they’re all fantastic.  The ones that really strike a chord with me though, are the ones that center on families – families just like mine – trying to raise money for their children.  Expensive cancer treatments, stem cell therapy, adoption, wheelchairs, you name it.   Yet these are things I never have to think about.

Everybody has problems and frustrations, things to complain about.  Nobody’s life is peaches and cream all the time.  But I think it’s important to put things into perspective; to recognize that some of the things you gripe about could be a blessing to somebody else.  My son has the ability to crawl out of bed and roam the hall upstairs, but there are other kids his age that can’t.  Does this mean I should feel guilty?  Absolutely not.  But when I get particularly crabby it does cross my mind.

At the end of the day every family has its own definition of “normal.”  I grew up with an older brother who was confined to a wheelchair from a young age due to Muscular Dystrophy.  Others may have looked at our family with sadness or pity, but to us it was normal.  I hopped on the handicapped school bus with him every day for a number of years and didn’t think twice about it.  My parents were active with the Muscular Dystrophy Association and we were granted a Disney trip from the Make-A-Wish Foundation.  I’m sure my parents felt more stress than they let on, and as a child I was certainly oblivious to it, but I know that they found great joy in their less-than-picture-perfect lifestyle.  And I know that the families behind the fundraisers I just described also feel great joy, even if their lives appear less than ideal from the outside looking in.

So tomorrow morning I will look at my sleepy boy with crazy bed head and tell him his birthday party is not in jeopardy.  When he swats at me like a brat I will discipline him, but also feel grateful that he’s able to swing that hand.  When he sasses at the dinner table I will correct him but remember that I am lucky that he communicates so well.  The next time he loses his mind in a fit of rage I’ll remind myself that his presence alone is a blessing.  But in all fairness I’ll still be annoyed and wonder why my life has to be so crazy sometimes.  That’s normal isn’t it?

*For more information about the fundraising company and its active campaigns, visit http://www.bonfirefunds.com.

My my my… Look How You’ve Grown!

Every now and then I catch myself looking at Junior, now 2 months shy of his third birthday, and wonder how (and when) he got so big.  I had to leave town for several days last week and when I got home it’s like I was looking at someone else’s child.  Did he get taller between Thursday morning and Sunday night?  It’s made me really start paying attention to the little things…

His vocabulary.  He’s my first child so I don’t have much to compare it to, but some of the things that come out of his mouth are mind boggling.  Not just because they’re so crisp and clear, but because they’re so grown up.  A recent example, stated with the clarity of a polished orator:  “Mommy can you stop?  You’re annoying me.”

The water fountain.  He can reach it at daycare.  For months I’ve had to give him a little boost to reach the stream of water.  Now he puts his sweet little face right in there and slurps away.  I don’t know how it happened.

His sales pitch.  He’s a better negotiator than I am.

Junior:  “Mommy can I have some M&Ms?”

Me:  “No buddy, not until after dinner.”

Junior, turning to his father:  “Daddy, you’re the best.  Can I have some M&Ms please?”

Mimicking Mommy.  It’s no secret that I love having Junior work with me in the kitchen.   I’ve found that he translates the things I do in the kitchen to the “cooking” he does in his own little places.  For instance, at least 3 times a week he makes me soup or macaroni in the bathtub.  And almost always he samples his bubble-laden recipe and informs me that it “needs a little more salt.”  So he takes a pinch of salt from his imaginary bowl and sprinkles it into his recipe.  Then he’ll taste it again and say, “It needs some pepper Mommy,” and crank his imaginary pepper grinder like I do in the kitchen.  He is so serious about it, and is overjoyed when I taste the final product and tell him how DELICIOUS it is, and seasoned just perfectly…  It is absolutely precious.

Independence.  Now that we converted his crib into a toddler bed he thinks he can set his own agenda when it comes to going to bed and staying in bed…  My once late sleeper has now decided that chirping birds are his sign to get up and start the day.  Mommy wholeheartedly disagrees.  But it’s a tricky situation because he’s potty training and I want him to feel like he has access to the bathroom, or to me, should he need to go.  Quite a conundrum…  I do find it comical that he thinks he can get up and stroll around the house at night after he’s gone to bed.  Not too long ago I was loading the dishwasher at around 9 PM, and I looked up to hear him say, “Hi Mommy.  I’m going to play in my fort now,” as he waltzed into the family room.  Do what?

Affection.  With all of the ups and downs, milestones and challenges, the amount of affection we get is the best part.  I’m not an overly affectionate person by nature; my closest friends and family know how much I value my 3 feet of personal space…  But the big bear hugs I get from Junior are out of this world.  He tells me he misses me when I’m gone.  And he still wants me to hold his hand as we go down the steps.  I know that won’t last forever so I’m happy to oblige as long as I can.

NO

Lately I feel like the lady on the Oscar Mayer commercials who is constantly saying NO to her family.  Eventually she’s presented with a pack of nitrate-free lunch meat and is relieved to finally say YES to something.  Will somebody please pass the deli ham?

Junior was awake for approximately 30 minutes today before we packed up and headed to daycare.  In that brief half hour I said NO to the following.  And this is just a sample…

“I want to wear my jammies to school.”

“I want M&Ms for breakfast.”

“I want to take my rocks to school.”

“I want to stay home.”

“I want to have these scissors.”

“I want to watch 2 cartoons.”

“I want to hear Elmo songs.”

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.  I could have probably budged on the Elmo songs in the car, but I was on a roll.

Yesterday, roles were reversed and he said “no” to ME a hundred times.  When I told him not to put an extension cord in his mouth.  When I told him not to sit on the dog’s head.  When I told him not to throw everything off of the deck.  When I told him not to dump out the entire container of bubbles.  My sweet, cuddly, gentle, kind boy has begun to show his obstinate side and I’m not a fan.  Especially when his NOs are coupled with an angry scowl and a swatting hand.  Really?  Take a swing at your mom because she doesn’t want you to hang out where a bunch of mosquitoes are?  Sheesh.

The best part is, he knows he’s acting like a pint sized poop.  He’ll be defiant, sometimes throw a tantrum, and then toss in a little sugar so he can say, “I’m a good boy mommy.”  They are so much smarter than we give them credit for.  At his last checkup our pediatrician said she can tell he’s a bright kid based on the way he was responding to her.  She also said the bright ones often give their parents a run for their money when they’re around 3 years old.  And you know what?  I see it happening.  He negotiates like a champ and exhibits an uncanny amount of logic.  My husband worries he’ll be like me – book smart, argumentative, and hopelessly klutzy.  If his attitude and the knot on his forehead are any indication, I think that may be his path in life.

Take it Easy…

Have you ever risen on a Saturday morning after a much needed sleep-in session, looked outside at the beautiful sunny sky, then looked at your messy house, laundry, and empty fridge and decided the sunshine has to take a backseat to chores?  Regrettably I do it all the time.  My busy work-week schedule leaves me little time to catch up on errands, laundry, and de-griming the house, so Saturdays or Sundays (sometimes both) are usually reserved for the crappy stuff. 

But this past weekend was different.  On Saturday morning I was the first to wake up (at 9:15 AM – score!), so I started the day with 30 minutes of peace and Food Network shows until the rest of the crew decided to join the living.  It was during that time I chose to give the middle finger to my dusty hardwood floors and skyscraper sized piles of laundry, to turn up my nose to the grocery list on my counter, and turn a blind eye to Junior’s disaster of a playroom.   On Saturday I wanted to play outside.  I did not want to see the inside of Wal Mart, Target, or Trader Joe’s.  I did not want to open my container of Mr. Clean with Febreze scent.  I did not want to clean toilets.  So I didn’t.

I jokingly classify myself in a number of less-than-desirable ways.  OCD, type-A, and a slightly less extreme version of Monica Gellar from Friends are a few that come to mind.  Granted these are all a little exaggerated (maybe?) but I will certainly admit that I’m one of those people who needs to be doing something all the time.  I can always look around and see something that needs tidying or decide at 9:00 PM that I’m going to bake a cake.  Even when I’m watching TV at night I’m folding laundry or dusting or organizing Junior’s stuff.  At 34, I still haven’t learned the fine art of vegging out, unless there’s a hangover in play and I have no choice (which has only happened once or twice since I became a mother).  So for me to declare to my husband that I just wanted to goof off was a little perplexing for both of us.

So here’s what we did…  We ate breakfast at our leisure.  We watched cartoons with Junior.  We went for a long walk and let our new rescue dog swim in the lake for the first time.  [Side note:  for a moment I thought I was going to have the only golden retriever on earth who doesn’t like the water.  She heaved herself into the lake with reckless abandon as soon as the tennis ball left my husband’s hand — and promptly sank.  She found her way up but was utterly confused about where the sturdy ground went.  My husband yanked his shoes and socks off so fast and was prepared to go in after her.  She figured it out eventually.] I digress…  After the walk we fixed sandwiches at home and then filled up Junior’s exquisite inflatable pool with the garden hose.  I sat in a chair in the sun and watched him.  I didn’t pluck weeds out of the flower beds or mow the grass or wash windows or clean the grill.  I just sat there and watched him make pretend soup in his embarrassingly cheap swimming vessel.  Then we got extra fancy and hooked up the sprinkler so he could run through it 1000 times.  I ran through it too, in my clothes.  He laughed so hard at his silly mommy getting her shorts all wet.  As the afternoon wound down we decided to get showered and head to a local (kid-friendly) brewery to sit outside and listen to some music.  We met friends and enjoyed a few hours outside in the comfortable summer breeze.  Junior danced and ran around and ate dinner from a food truck.  My husband and I had a beer and caught up with our friends.  When we got home Junior brushed his teeth and fell fast asleep, and I watched a movie on TV that I’d already seen 250 times.

When I went to bed on Saturday night the floors still needed to be mopped and the laundry was still piled up.  I still didn’t have eggs or milk in the fridge.  But I spent a whole day having fun with my little boy, my husband, and my crazy dog, and felt that good tired feeling that you get after a busy day.  The moral of the story?  It’s OK to take a day and chuck “responsibility” out the window.  I don’t do it often enough and that will probably never change.  On Sunday I was right back at it – grocery store, prepping meals for the next few days, doing laundry.  But we still found time to head to the playground for a while…