Rally, Rally, Make it So

I don’t think I can do this.

Most mornings I rise without trouble.  Sometime in the year or so after being thrust from the cocoon of college into real life where waking early every morning whether I felt like it or not, I realized I preferred to also wake reasonably early on days off, else I’d waste that precious time dozing because I’d stayed up to watch Letterman.  Ultimately, the reward of time to truly live the hours I had a choice about trumped the indulgence of sleeping in.  As a result, I morphed into a woman for whom 7:45 is late to be getting out of bed on a weekend, and 8:30 was truly decadent.

That was prekids.  As a mom, I realized I usually have only control over when I go to bed, so I ensure that I’ll get at least a good 6.5-7 hours before waking before the kids to have that alone time.  And I don’t mind it—I like it.  I may not be chirpy, but I’m pretty content padding around the kitchen setting up the coffee maker and checking all the online things one checks while the coffee pot gurgles and hisses its way to caffeinated bliss.

So, what I’m saying is this: I don’t usually wake up wanting to stay in bed.  Saturday, however, I woke before 6:00 and my first thought was, “I don’t think I can do this.” 

This was not just to wake and make a weekend breakfast of bacon and eggs or homemade waffles—and waffles were what I had promise-promise-pinky-swore I’d make because Carter loves them so—but to get us all ready for and away to an adventure we’d been eagerly anticipating for a month: camping.  Yet, there I was, throat burning, the cough Cole had been developing without much complaint over the past week clearly coming into its own in my head and chest, deciding this morning it’d be nice to sleep until at least 7:00 or so.

It’s time to wake up!  Up!  We want to get up and have breakfast!

My littlest friend has other plans, and no amount of me wishing it were not so will change the fact that, one way or another, my butt is getting up.  I slug down 2 ibuprofen while making the coffee and a quick snack to tide Cole over until I’m ready to get out the waffle iron and start beating egg whites for the batter and start to make mental lists of everything we will all need, all the while hearing The Brat who resides in all our heads whine to me about the inherent unfairness of life and other whiny bunk that really has no bearing on anything except that The Brat knows I am sick and more susceptible to believing the whines today than most days.

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In my idealized mental vision of our camping trip, I’d have had everything ready—or at least located—the day before setting out nice and early, us all singing Kumbaya no doubt.

In reality, I was stressed and grumpy.

I will be calm and happy when we’re there.  I have to slog through some edgy places to get there, though.

I told that to myself and anyone who’d listen all morning.

I hate being disorganized and not having ready the things I need in spite of my apparent lack of ability to do otherwise at this point!

I told my husband that a few times over the morning.  He helped me with fetching items from high places, ticked me off by insisting I pack that ‘godawful’ (my description) instant coffee—how dare he mess up my tenuous grasp on how I’d get us all to our goal!!—and surely bit his tongue many times as I made those dang waffles and played Tetris with our belongings to arrange them just so they’d all fit.  Oh, I was a peach that morning.  It’s incredible anyone wanted to go anyplace with me.

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All that being said, we got ourselves out, and I was right:  once we were there, we were all happy.  Sometimes you have to RALLY.

To be continued…

…wave ‘em around like you just don’t care…

Some days. We all have ‘em. When we’re lucky, someone else we love is having a pretty good day when we’re having a ‘some day’ kind of day, to balance out, or at least let you lean on them for a spell.

When we’re not so much on the lucky side, the ‘some day’ is more widespread. Maybe it lasts for a week. Usually it’s at the tail end of a cold for us, which means nothing has been done enough (laundry, dishes, cooking), but everything feels like too much. It’s enough to make a grown woman want to sit on the floor and have a good fit much like a frustrated two year-old I know might when he can’t line up the magnets on his trains and has used up all his patience. Over the course of the past 8 years there have been some tantrums, I admit. Looking back, they’re pretty funny: one time I was so over-stimulated and pecked-at feeling I threw an unopened box of crackers on the floor and might have then proceeded to stomp on them a little (the next week or so we discovered we were expecting Cole, so perhaps hormones played a small role there, haha).

My point is there are days I wanna call for a mulligan. Except, along the way, there are always gems to sustain. If I could and did push the reset button today, I would have missed block time with Cole, watching him press those blocks together with such force that a long tower always crumbles into two or three pieces. I would not have helped Bun scavenge some bark that had fallen off a tree near school for a fairy boat. Tee Ball time in the back yard would also have gone missed. I tell you what: Carter can whack that ball, even sometimes when pitched!

Some days—those days—you have to take the good bits where you find them. They’re always there, and generally the stuff worth remembering anyway. Why worry about a few stupid dishes? Sometimes, it takes a peek through a viewfinder to realize all the good that is there, just waiting to be noticed… at least for me. Sometimes, that narrower view where I can simply zoom in on the important parts also focuses me. Sometimes, on those days, I just have to throw my hands in the air and decide to enjoy at least some of it (and then do those stupid dishes).

I think our one man tee ball league is shaping up well, by the way.

He has made up a game with himself where he tries to hit the ball through a small window in the playhouse door. I say it’s a great game because the ball doesn’t fly very far before bouncing off the playhouse, which means a weary mama can cheer and admire her son’s prowess more and fetch less.

It is a good idea, however, to be ready to get out of the way when necessary. :)

P.S. It is possible, no, it is probable that tidying up leaves and toys in the back yard is another of those tasks that have slid a bit… oh well!

Hi Ho-ly Crap This Game is Boring

Carter is really getting into board games. But, and I apologize in advance, not into the ones I look forward to playing with the kids. I love games. Clue? Oh yeah! Monopoly? You betcha! Trivial Pursuit? Oh, Mama!

We’re not quite up to that level yet. Crawl before you walk. Crawl before you walk. Little Man has to learn the concept of taking turns, of give and take, of not always winning… and a smidge of strategy, but that will come later. Now we’re in games that are really only of chance.

Enter Hi Ho Cherry-O. Get a card, put 10 cute little plastic cherries on it, spin the dial, and follow the instructions until someone finally picks all their cherries. Seems like it would take a couple of minutes, right? Oh, no. There are the ‘lose 2 or all of your cherry’ spaces of woe. Finally I made up the rule that if you’re under 5 you don’t have to put all the cherries back if you ‘spill the bucket’. I was DYING, sorry.

But, Carter loves it, and so we play a few times a week, when Cole is napping. Clue will be a reality in a few years. This is now, and now is pretty good.

Pardon us, we have The Plague

Oof, we’re sick. Just a family tummy bug, but it’s sucking. I’ll be back when we’re not otherwise occupied lying around and whining about how bad we all feel.