My lunch sits on the table, luke warm and (probably) missing bits courtesy of cat.
Ande jumps happily in his bouncy thing, oblivious to his temporary lack of "mama".
I am perched on the corner of EmmyJ's bed, a to-do list running through my head. At the top of the list: get Em to nap.
The countdown clock is ticking until we leave to pick up the Big's from school (if he falls asleep this instant, he will get a solid hour and forty-two minute rest).
I am thinking of my unfinished (probably) cat raided lunch, of the calendar updating needing done, the laundry, the dishes, of Ande and how long it is before he realizes I am not in the room and starts wailing.
And then Em hands me the book.
Bear Snores On.
I know this book by heart.
As does Andy.
And probably Matt and Nic, too.
This book is Em's bedtime ritual. In recent weeks, despite my every effort to thwart it, the book has become naptime ritual as well. I do not want to read/recite. I do not want to do special voices. I do not want to read. I want to eat my lunch and begin making progress on my to-do list. I want this small child to sleep so that we can enjoy our evening together and not be tempted (oh so tempted) to move up bedtime by an hour.
But his face is set.
Stubborn.
His expression more determined than mine. I pause, listen for Ande, listen for cat choking on a piece of stolen pasta, and then, grudgingly, begin to read. Hurriedly, rushed, half-assed (if I am being honest). I am turning pages as fast as I can.
And then I glance at Em right before a particularly exciting, usually over-acted by the reader, definitely silly but maybe to a toddler scary part.
His face.
His sweet little face glances back at mine. Eyes wide. Mouth forming a funny, over exaggerated, I-know-what's-coming-but-still-am-thrilled-and-loving-this-moment "O" shape. And I cannot help but play. Cannot help but read crazy and loud and fake crying and a little bird twittering in to save the day. He is delighted.
I close the book and snuggle for a few minutes. Em settles in on his pillow, big smile, sleepy eyes. I take a deep breath. I lean over to plant a kiss on his head. Another deep breath. He smells like sunshine and Fall and a tiny bit like the shampoo from last night's bath. He doesn't fuss when I leave. My lunch is suspiciously missing meat. Ande is fine and bounces gleefully when he sees I am back.
I know it is SO cliche to say "I will always have a to-do" list. But, it is true: I will. But I won't always have a two-year old who loves the Bear book. Or cat who will steal food when I am not looking. Or Ande who is so content to just chill and play and bounce along.
It is difficult in the real-ness of parenting and running a house to pause and play or not be annoyed at the questions regarding spaceship construction or allow the boy's to try something I know I can do in about 5 minutes but will take them at least 20. It is hard for me to do these things.
Funny thing, though, is that when I do...when I do slow down, toss out the to-do list (temporarily), read the book, play peek-a-boo, whatever...I end up part of a moment. Maybe it is a moment only I will remember, maybe it is one I won't but one of the boys will years down the road. Maybe no one will remember. However it ends up, they will all be moments spent well.
Life lesson: play more, be there more, give the boys (my sweet growing too fast boys) more time.
Ande jumps happily in his bouncy thing, oblivious to his temporary lack of "mama".
I am perched on the corner of EmmyJ's bed, a to-do list running through my head. At the top of the list: get Em to nap.
The countdown clock is ticking until we leave to pick up the Big's from school (if he falls asleep this instant, he will get a solid hour and forty-two minute rest).
I am thinking of my unfinished (probably) cat raided lunch, of the calendar updating needing done, the laundry, the dishes, of Ande and how long it is before he realizes I am not in the room and starts wailing.
And then Em hands me the book.
Bear Snores On.
I know this book by heart.
As does Andy.
And probably Matt and Nic, too.
This book is Em's bedtime ritual. In recent weeks, despite my every effort to thwart it, the book has become naptime ritual as well. I do not want to read/recite. I do not want to do special voices. I do not want to read. I want to eat my lunch and begin making progress on my to-do list. I want this small child to sleep so that we can enjoy our evening together and not be tempted (oh so tempted) to move up bedtime by an hour.
But his face is set.
Stubborn.
His expression more determined than mine. I pause, listen for Ande, listen for cat choking on a piece of stolen pasta, and then, grudgingly, begin to read. Hurriedly, rushed, half-assed (if I am being honest). I am turning pages as fast as I can.
And then I glance at Em right before a particularly exciting, usually over-acted by the reader, definitely silly but maybe to a toddler scary part.
His face.
His sweet little face glances back at mine. Eyes wide. Mouth forming a funny, over exaggerated, I-know-what's-coming-but-still-am-thrilled-and-loving-this-moment "O" shape. And I cannot help but play. Cannot help but read crazy and loud and fake crying and a little bird twittering in to save the day. He is delighted.
I close the book and snuggle for a few minutes. Em settles in on his pillow, big smile, sleepy eyes. I take a deep breath. I lean over to plant a kiss on his head. Another deep breath. He smells like sunshine and Fall and a tiny bit like the shampoo from last night's bath. He doesn't fuss when I leave. My lunch is suspiciously missing meat. Ande is fine and bounces gleefully when he sees I am back.
I know it is SO cliche to say "I will always have a to-do" list. But, it is true: I will. But I won't always have a two-year old who loves the Bear book. Or cat who will steal food when I am not looking. Or Ande who is so content to just chill and play and bounce along.
It is difficult in the real-ness of parenting and running a house to pause and play or not be annoyed at the questions regarding spaceship construction or allow the boy's to try something I know I can do in about 5 minutes but will take them at least 20. It is hard for me to do these things.
Funny thing, though, is that when I do...when I do slow down, toss out the to-do list (temporarily), read the book, play peek-a-boo, whatever...I end up part of a moment. Maybe it is a moment only I will remember, maybe it is one I won't but one of the boys will years down the road. Maybe no one will remember. However it ends up, they will all be moments spent well.
Life lesson: play more, be there more, give the boys (my sweet growing too fast boys) more time.
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