There’s the running outside and breathless requests for dinner. The wandering on white carpets with dusty feet and jelly hands. The “stop touching mes!” and the Miranda Cosgrove CD blaring from the play room. I want nothing more than to unwind with the Real Housewives and a glass of Cab, but it’s time to eat. I butter bread, toast fish sticks, microwave peas. A plebian dinner at best, but it’s all I can manage on this night.
And I think as I turn the oven to 375 degrees: this is what we do. And it’s OK b/c we love and we get by and it’s OK. But just 20 minutes? Can I have 20 minutes? And then it’s time to eat.
Through it all I know in a few short years that pass like comets, I will give anything to have those 20 minutes with my kids just the way they are now.
Jelly hands and all.
Hear! Hear!
And? You have created here this wonderful place to turn back to throughout the years and remember these moments. Meanwhile, fish sticks and toast is the stuff that stories of Biblical proportions are made.
Yep, in 3 years when their in school I have nothing to do I’ll want them in their crazy bugging way too.
It goes by too fast, but you know what? They’re lovely when they’re grown-up too.
Your girls are so precious.
I keep having this same thought–reminding myself to ENJOY THE MOMENT. Even when the boys are making me nuts.
Lump. in. throat.
Those photos make me smile and make my heart feel so full.
Seriously, get out of my head! I literally had a breakdown (ok not a breakdown, but I cried) yesterday afternoon because I just wanted to watch my show.
Needed the reality check, thank you! (even though I do think it’s important to have some “me” time… just can’t expect it when the kids’ eyes are open).