Friday was all set to be a rough day. I was up half the night with a cough, and my husband, who normally works from home on Fridays, was not only going in to work, but was working late. And I had a yard sale to prepare for, an unfinished project to make progress on, and a disgusting house to clean.
Instead, it was our best day in a long, long time. We chased butterflies and stomped on dandelions gone to seed. It was so magical and delightful and Vaseline-lens-filmed children-running-through-the-heather that I didn’t even mind watching the “flower fairies” floating all over my lawn and into my garden. We came in for a while, had lunch, and then the kids pretended to be mommy and daddy. They called themselves by our first names, and took care of a baby doll and a stuffed Hello Kitty, reassuring their “children” when they got a boo-boo by telling them, “It’s OK, babe. Mommy will kiss it better.” I did laundry, successfully met my unfinished project goal, and wrote an extra bonus blog entry about it. They asked to go back outside, so we threw maple seeds into the air and watched them whirligig down. For half an hour. Three-year-olds don’t do anything for half an hour. Well, nothing pleasant anyway. I moved three more of the giant 70-80 pound logs that are killing grass in the middle of the lawn while the kids swung on the swings. They didn’t even fight about who would be on the front of the glider swing. Together, we planted the marigolds the kiddos gave me at their preschool Mother’s Day Tea. We came back in, watched some TV, and snuggled on the couch. I fell briefly asleep and awoke to find two kids still snuggled on me, and not one single toy bin or bucket of water dumped out onto the floor.
5pm hit, and I had not mediated a single fight. What kind of weird bizarro-world had I entered? And can I live there?
Witching hour. 5-6pm. I folded laundry while they wore the laundry baskets on their backs and pretended to be “Bowser’s friends” (the turtle thingies from the Mario games). I sat down to take some notes for this blog entry so I didn’t forget what I wanted to say. No one whined at me. I kept looking over my shoulder, but nope, no hidden cameras. I wouldn’t even mind being punked if they would tell me how they got my kids to act like that so I could do it Every. Flipping. Day.
Even dinnertime, our nemesis around here, couldn’t derail the happy train. (Although the table manners were legendary in their complete absence, as I am about to describe, but we were all really happy about it.) The kids bit chunks from the sides of carrots and pretended they were telephones. They then decided to pretend that carrots were poo-poo, and mimed um… “creating” the carrots, you know, like, um, from their butts. Yeah, charming, I know. And then they ate them, opening their mouths wide to show each other the half-masticated poo-poo carrots. It was like “2 Kids 1 Cup”* but with beta carotene and roof-rattling belly laughs.
And then Daddy came home, to squeals of delight, hugs, and frantically-told stories about the day we had. They sat under blankets with the back door open and watched the storm roll in while the grown-ups ate dinner. Next, it was time to strip naked and jump on the bed for a while (just the kids, not the grown-ups). Then, they settled down for book reading with Daddy, and went to bed. Best. Day. Ever.
I was uber-productive AND got in loads of great Mommy-kiddo time, and also spent time on facebook and wrote 2 blog entries and I honestly kind of didn’t know what to do with myself all day. Days like this are the reason that people without kids wonder what stay-at-home moms do with their time. If I hadn’t had a month of back-laundry to do, a yard sale the next day, and a house that had gone even more to seed than the dandelions, I seriously could have eaten bon-bons on the couch with my feet up. It was f-ing surreal.
Every day is a gift. Every day that we are healthy and together and have food to eat and a roof over our heads and love love love… is a gift. But some days are like a re-gifted bath gel and lotion set or a candle that kind of gives you a headache. Friday was like a spa gift card for a 2-hour massage with “includes free babysitting” written on the envelope. I wish I knew where to send the thank you note. I guess I send it to my amazing kids.
*For those who don’t know the “2 girls 1 cup” reference, do not google it. If you google it, do not watch the video. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. If you really want to know (warning: you don’t), here is the wikipedia page that describes it without visuals. Some things cannot be unseen.