... When You Dream of a Vacation

Do you dream of a vacation?  Where would you go?  If you were to have asked me this question years ago, I would have answered, "Outer space!"  If you then had rephrased it to say where on Earth would you go, I would have answered, "Greece."  That was before I had kids.  Lately I've been fantasizing about a cave.  To sleep in. Now I'm not talking about the romantic type of cave, where you sleep behind a waterfall on your honeymoon and listen to the monkeys in the trees and watch the butterflies flutter by.  (Yes, we really did do this on our honeymoon to Costa Rica.  And it was romantic... until the tour guide took out his flashlight and insisted on showing us this

Huge spider with whom we shared a cave

ten feet above our bed, ten minutes before we were going to sleep.  "It's cool," he had said, "It's the same type of spider in the Harry Potter movie."  Well, mister, I've never seen Harry Potter, and I certainly don't think it's a cool adornment to our night chamber).

Picture of the waterfall we slept behind on our honeymoon to Costa Rica.
(Thanks to EC for the recommendation!); July 2010

No, I fantasize about a dark cave, far, far away that no tour guide or whining toddler can find.  A cave where there better be no birds chirping, monkeys climbing, or waterfalls falling.  A dark, dark, absolutely silent cave, where I might actually feel at one with that monstrous spider.  So I can sleep and not do a thing more.

Now, my St. Nick-of-a-husband is making me feel like a Grinch.  So I'll play Santa tonight and wrap more presents and make more fudge.  Ho, ho, ho!  Merry Christmas! -- no stuffing needed.

 

20 weeks, due May 6th

I really am excited for our first Christmas in our new home.  Thankfully, I made it to confession yesterday, so I can enjoy Christmas that much more.  Tonight, we lit all four candles on our Advent wreath and sang "Shepherd, Shepherd" with the kids.  That was neat.  Nick and I can't wait to wrestle Miriam into her cute new Christmas dress for Christmas Eve Mass (though I'm most certain she'll wrestle right out of it and end up wearing something not as cute).  Miri and Noah will look at the Nativity in the church and point, "Jesus!"  (Hopefully they won't just say, "Sheep!")  We can't wait to see our little ones run to the tree in the morning to see what Santa has brought and spend the day with our extended family.

So, no.  I guess I don't really want my cave yet.  I'll quietly anticipate Christmas night by the fireplace with my husband, after the kids are in bed.

...but a cave for New Year's sounds awfully nice!

...When You Need Your Own Cheerleaders

My two-year-old "set" the table.  Barbie plate for her, frog plate for her brother.  I plopped a meatball sub onto each one.  "Thank you, Jesus, for this yummy lunch."  We always add a descriptive in our grace, so that no matter what our kids eat, they are told it's "delicious," or "special," or "yummy."  But, sometimes, I feel like I'm going crazy around meal time, and completely forget to say grace.

"Open!"  My one-year-old shouts.  That is my direction to open the bread so he can easily gorge out the innards.  I know I only have about forty-five seconds to inhale a few bites of my own sub before someone needs my full attention.

"Juice!"  Darn it.  I left their cups over by the sink.  My daughter picks a blue straw and my son a yellow, even though he calls it "purple."

"More!" Yep, my human garbage disposal devoured his sub (or at least its innards) and is demanding more.  After a stern look, he whispers his good manners, "Pees."

"Catch!"  I should've seen that one coming.  He's throwing his meatballs... everywhere.

***

I'm typing this with a bag of Special Dark Hershey's Kisses.  It's been one of those long days.  Courtesies of my Superhero-Husband, I started my morning with a relatively clean house.  Goodness knows, I can't keep the house clean.  Despite the fact that I must've picked up the blocks on three separate occasions today, they have still managed to be left strewn across the floor at the day's end.  Yogurt is smeared on the table, meatballs still on the floor, and a wet diaper that didn't quite make it into the diaper pail is in my view.

On days when you feel like your biggest accomplishment is getting out of bed after a night of little rest, you need to employ some serious strategies to get you through the day.  I am proud to say that I am in the process of training my own personal cheerleaders to get me through such days:

Video caption, in case you're like me and hate watching videos on-line: 

"Who loves Mommy?" "Me, me, me!"

And, I'm not even sure if this video will work, since I can't seem to figure out half of this blog stuff.

When I'm coloring alongside my daughter, it's encouraging to hear her say, "Wow!  You're really good, Mommy."  Or, as I'm building with blocks, "Great job!  You're doing great."  Then, during a (a-hem) "delicious" dinner, "I like this so much!  It's so yummy."  Her copy-cat brother is likely to follow suit, once his vocabulary picks up a bit.  I can't wait for a double-dose of compliments.

***

Once the debris of Hurricane Miriam and Hurricane Noah settled, I realized I did have two small accomplishments today: I showered and cooked dinner.   As I'm counting my Hershey Kiss wrappers (seven), I reflect on a bigger accomplishment today: I got to really play with my kids.  We danced, built towers, drew Barbie, made a park for the princesses, read books, and sang "Bringing Home My Baby Bumblebee" over and over again.  These are memories I hope will stay with me in twenty years; they are also the memories that will lull me to sleep tonight over the buzzing of the baby monitor.

Lord, thank you for the gift of my children.  Allow me to draw upon Your strength in my weakness... and forgive me when I draw upon the encouragement of my personal cheerleaders.

My Barbie masterpiece, to which Miriam commented, "You tried!" 12.5.13