I woke up at 5am this morning. Finley woke up at 5:30am. She thinks her father's alarm is for her. It made me mad that she was up. I knew she would be a grump later and it was all I could think about. I yelled at her when she went upstairs and woke up her brother. She started crying.

An hour later I read this.

It rocked my world. It will rock yours too.

I went upstairs and gave my children hugs. I told them how much I loved them and how lucky I was that I got to be their mommy, that I had the profound privilege to be their mommy.

I am lucky my children wake up every morning...no matter what time it is.

Brian and I have been talking a lot lately about a vacation. After our past few weeks, Lord knows we need one. Then there's also the fact that we've never really been on a family vacation just the four (now five) of us. Like, never. So I've been searching and scouring and ripping out pages in magazines and researching. I keep a ton of files. Boxes and boxes of room inspirations, things I love, recipes to try, etc. So this morning I pulled out the file aptly labeled 'vacation' and had a looksie.

It included the following: "Great Weekend Drives," "Napa," "Dubrovnik, Croatia," "Expedition on Prince Albert II through Svalbard Archipelago," "The Hamptons," "Capri."

After dreamily thumbing through cruises to Patagonia and private villas in Bali, I added "The 10 Best Beach Resorts for Families" and "Ten Budget Friendly Family Vacations" to the mix.

Maybe I should start a new file.

Every Wednesday morning I wake up excited to put on my faded black spandex, pull my not-washed-in-two-days hair into a pony, and bask in the glorious company of the eight women and countless children that make up our weekly playgroup.

We sit and drink coffee while our children play unsupervised as far away from us as possible. I mean that nicely. I think.

This was one of those fabulous mornings...sitting around at a friend's house sipping on aforementioned coffee, ignoring the crashes and cries occurring on the floor below us, all eight of us completely child free (well, of course a few of us had infants stuck on our boobs, but they don't count- they can't talk back). We were talking about some super important topic, like Target or something, all of us deeply into the conversation, when out of nowhere Parker runs through like a bolt of lightning.

The conversation immediately came to an end. Silence filled the room and mouths hung open. Heads turned in my direction waiting for my reaction.

My son had just streaked through the family room completely naked from the waist down. Buck. ass. naked. Running like the wind without even a glance in my (or anyone else's) direction.

I was laughing so hard I had tears.

That was, of course, until I found the dingle berry he left on the toilet seat in the master bath.

These past ten days have been some of those 'if you don't laugh you'll cry' times. Between stomach flus, a nasty cold, the development of a peanut allergy, throat biopsies, Brian working a looong week, and just the mere fact that we have three children under the age of three (which for some reason this fact just hit me this past week) we've had a rough go of it.

However...I've had some pretty good laughs these past few days. Like last night at 4:30am while I was changing Harry (on our bed) and he started peeing all over the place- like all over his sleeping father's bare back. Brian shot up like you wouldn't believe, "What was that?" All I could do was laugh...

Or when I put Parker's plate of spaghetti (made with Mimi's brown spaghetti sauce instead of red) in front of him and he matter of factly stated, "Mom, I not eat that. That looks like poop." All I could do was laugh...

Then there was the morning I felt like death and was lying in bed after the babes had come down. They normally wake up, go potty, get their milks out of the fridge, and turn on the TV (I change it to PBS every night) by themselves while I lie in bed listening. This particular morning I had apparently lied in bed a little too long because Parker could be heard saying, "Get up Mom. I need my dips (french toast) now." All I could do was laugh...

Or the other night when I was making dinner and I moved the plate of brownies that Parker and Finley had made and Parker told me, "That so rude mom. SO rude you move my brownie cookies." Really?! All I could do was laugh...

Or on the car ride home from the Transportation Museum this afternoon a truck drove by us and let out a bunch of exhaust and Finley said, "That truck stinky. P U. Truck needs a bath." All I could do was laugh...

...but these commercials make it so much better.

I get tears every time this comes on (and it's a lot because you know I'm glued to my television during the Olympics. U.S.A. U.S.A.)



And then there's this one. Quite possibly the most hysterical commercial I have ever seen. Ever. Watch it more than once. It just keeps getting better.

At two and a half years old my children are fiercely independent.
Fiercely.
Every morning we dress ourselves.
Every trip to the potty...all. by. themselves.
Every night? Yup.
Heaven forbid we should intervene in any way.
Twisted underwear? They would rather live with it than fix it.
Pants on backwards? No problem.
Shirt inside out? Happens all the time.

 

Seven days later and here we are again.

The Good: Lots of sweat- three trips to the gym, two pilates classes, one yoga session, three naps spent with Jillian Micheals...

The Bad: An evening out on Saturday with far too much eating and drinking for someone supposed to be watching these types of things. Same thing on Sunday.

The Ugly: Not a single pound lost.

This might be harder than anticipated.

I am a traditionalist.
When I agreed (/put both arms up and did a little dance) to stay home with our twins my job description included the following: cooking, cleaning, laundry, all things children and all things home.
My husband's job description is to go to work every morning and make sure our bank account sees an automatic deposit every other week.
Jobs we both do with pleasure and without complaint.
We both do our 'work' during the day, evenings are family time and after the babes go down is our time.
Nothing but family and us time after he walks through the door every evening and on weekends.
That's just how it is around here.