No such thing as too much fun
This has been a weekend and a half. If only every weekend could be like this … but then nothing would get done … but then I might not care that nothing is getting done …
It all started on Wednesday with the first birthday event, chronicled in a post below. Thursday we threw together a slumber party. Albus’s version last spring had been so easy, I had no qualms. Turns out, five girls make a lot of noise. There were moments when I was standing in the kitchen going I can’t stand the squealing. Will they just stop giggling? Kevin found my response very amusing: You’re not much of a girlie girl, are you? The pillow fight first thing in the morning just about did me in. But in the end, I could stand back and laugh and appreciate their energy and excitement.
The irony of it all was that I spent Friday night at my own version of a (non-sleepover) slumber party when my darling little book club got together in a hot tub. Yes, you read that correctly. Let’s just say it was a book club for the ages. It’s not often I’m still awake at 3:30 in the morning. Though I suspect the neighbours might have been having their own moments of will they just stop giggling already?
Friday was also AppleApple’s actual birthday. She celebrated with three hours of soccer. But we also had a surprise for her: her own writing desk for her new room. Thanks once again to kijiji. We’d been storing it in the basement, and post-slumber-party Kevin hauled it upstairs and set it up in her room (all while the birthday girl herself was sitting at the counter, completely oblivious, absorbed in a new book). We then coaxed her up: “Let me get a photo of you in your new room.” The first attempt was a bust. She went into the room, posed, and walked out. Kevin and I just about died laughing. This pretty much sums up our AppleApple: she lives deep inside her head. So we coaxed her back up a second time, she sat down in her reading chair, looked across the room and — at last! — spotted the writing desk. Reaction above. Sweet.
Now, just to put the icing on a truly terrific weekend, last night also featured our turn in a babysitting exchange. Have you heard of the overnight babysitting exchange? If not, may I highly recommend such a venture to you. First, find a willing family of equal size. Second, set two dates. Third, drop your kids off with their sleeping gear. Fourth, thank me later. (And thanks to Tricia for introducing the idea to us.) I didn’t mention step 2.5, in which the other family’s children are dropped off at your house with their sleeping gear. Yes, in our case, it means having eight children in the house (we took our turn last month.) But let me just shout: Totally worth it! Completely. Absolutely. I say we book dates on a quarterly basis. Seriously. Just for example, we spent on dinner what we usually spend on babysitting. And we went out for brunch this morning. Brunch!
Ergo, on this Sunday noon, I am so ridiculously relaxed I can’t remember all those things I should be doing. I’m going with it. Everyone needs to let down the hair from time to time. Forget serious. Get silly. Empty the mind. Inhabit the goofy happy happening. It’s good for the soul.
**Found at Kristen den Hartog’s Blog of Green Gables.
Recipe for a party
Forgive the 60s-style photos. I just discovered my photo editing software has special features. And there’s something about a family birthday party that cries out for instant nostalgia. AppleApple turns nine tomorrow. Due to a manic week, we scheduled a little party for her yesterday evening.
**Party menu: Baked russet potatoes. Steamed broccoli. Cheese sauce. Roasted curried cauliflower. Sauteed onions, peppers and mushrooms with thyme and reduced wine. Green salad. Condiments: salt, pepper, butter, marg, crema, plain yogurt, salsa, grated cheese. With cake for dessert, of course.
I love planning a menu. And when planning a menu, I love a theme. I hadn’t done baked potatoes as a theme before, and it did require giving phone instructions to my ten-year-old so he could turn on the oven for me at the right time (the rest of us were at piano lessons; the scrubbed and prepped potatoes were already in the oven.) I whipped up the rest of the meal in under an hour upon arriving home, save for the cake which I’d baked earlier in the day. Phew. But when it was done, it was done. I poured a glass of wine and relaxed. Bowls were passed up and down the table. I was able to keep this meal vegetarian, and those of us who are lactose-intolerant could customize with vegan options.
AppleApple invented a game for the party. A Quidditch board game. It was pretty fun.
Obligatory puffed-cheek candle shot.
A few more parties to go. I’m not complaining. I wouldn’t organize all these celebrations if I didn’t secretly enjoy them myself too.
Motherhood: the good years
These are the good motherhood years. Not that they haven’t all been good years. But I’m telling you. These are sweet. For starters, I sleep through the night (I mean that literally, as all mothers of infants and toddlers will understand.) But then, my eldest is not so old: he still likes doing things with the whole family. And my youngest is not so old either: he still asks to be carried downstairs in the morning. All appreciate bedtime hugs and kisses goodbye in the morning. All are developing characters with funny thoughts and quirks and individual interests. Bursting with potential. Ages 10, almost 9, 6, and 3. This time is a keeper. Can I bottle it?
:::
A random conversation between CJ and Kevin this morning, on their walk to nursery school (as reported by Kevin):
“Dad, Christmas is on the street now.”
“Are you excited about Christmas?”
Little dance with punches – “Yes! All the presents! How does Santa get all the gifts into the house?”
“Magic.”
“How does Santa do magic without a magic wand?”
Sigh, this is embarrassing, but it’s all I’ve got this morning and I promise to shut up already, soon
As I look out my window I see
leaves in the street
almost bare branches
pale blue sky
a white apartment building with green trim and crooked window blinds
passing cars
a recycling truck
sometimes, people
people walking dogs
people running
people pushing baby strollers
people alone
in pairs
talking
thinking
the floor is warm under my stocking feet
shadows move on the white bare walls
there is an echo
I want to keep this room
bare
echoing
spare
I did not know what I was craving
until I sat down in the quiet of this room
my own room
I did not know how much I longed
to be alone
for a little while
every day