Today is sort of a new start for me. I realize that people are usually all gung-ho for this sort of thing at least a month prior to my revolution, but I don't ever seem to roll like the rest of the world, so for me the timing is probably perfect.
Generally, when people write blogs they focus on all the happy, cheery, fantastical stuff they want to remember from a day. Or week. Or in my blogging consistency, a month. But the reason I started this blogging business is because my scrapbook time/world/budget sort of went to pot when Miss Ruby arrived, so I thought this would be a nice way to capture our days in a memoir sort of a way for not only myself, but my kids. It would only seem truthful to my children, then, that I include all instances of a day . . . right?
Yesterday I had a seemingly normal sort of day. I woke up almost 45 minutes after my husband tried to wake me up at the time I requested. The Ruby-girl and I snuggled in bed . . . August, who generally joins us, was still snoozing so we headed downstairs to make cinnamon bread. (Which I put in the pan and then had to scrape back out because I forgot the sugar. See what I mean? Normal type of day.) So much for 'mix just until combined'.
I did some housekeeping and put in some laundry. I love putting in laundry. I love doing laundry. I sure as the world turns hate putting it away. It does cause a bit of an issue in terms of a laundry basket shortage around here. I scrubbed the floor while August used every. single. step of the stairs to make a farm. This was after several reminders that a staircase is a bad place to build a farm, especially when both chilluns have fallen down the stairs in the last two weeks and Momma spent nigh on three months with no use of one foot all because of one wee step. After I scrubbed the kitchen floor, all the while listening to August instruct Ruby on which trailer she was to put on which tractor, with which particular fingers, facing which particular direction and at which particular phase of the moon, - see? Sooooo normal - August still refused to pick up the farm. Did I mention laundry today? It's downstairs.
So August and I had a wee power struggle, but he finally conceded (and I use that word loosely) and then promptly fell down the stairs, landing at the bottom with all sorts of tractors and barn paraphanelia on top of him. Because of the farm. Yea. Hmm.
We all regrouped and bundled up and headed outside. We walked and we walked anywhere there was a puddle. (Or in the case of our streets, a stream with a current that could sweep away my youngest at some points.) We splashed. I hollered not to splash ME. A lot. Our feet got soaked in our boots. August sang as we walked. Loudly. (Normal. I love it.) Ruby followed and watched. She was drawn to the water just as much as her brother. Someone once told me that a half filled bucket of water will draw kids like the Pied Piper. I believe it.
August finally led us to the park, despite pleas from a mother with wet feet. (Persistent. Normal.) He immediately took off his boots and walked through the sand in his wet socks. When I hollered, he stuck them back in his boots. Ai-yi-yi!! Goodness, it was fun, though! They giggled and shouted on the swings. I thought about how big Ruby is that she can climb up the steps to the slide by herself and whiz down with me only assisting with the catch. I watched her as she started each slide, and smiled at how the journey down took her breath away. I marveled at how she used the word 'dangerous' in a sentence and that at the end of each of her slides she said, "Auggie turn."
I put lots of wet rocks in my pocket. And declined a lot of wet and crunchy leaves. And I wondered and pondered all the rest of the day why it is that I feel so crummy every night when I go to bed. That I yelled or reprimanded before I discovered the whole story. That I didn't get out play-dough for a little girl that wanted it or I still haven't sat down to help August make his 'dress'. (Whatever that is.) That I say we'll do something later, and never get to it. Or get overly frustrated with the location of farms and tractors and books. (But seriously, I've had a broken foot, here. Paper is NOT a good thing to have laying about on the floor!)
My world with these two children is magical. So today, after a very long soak in an extremely hot tub - parly because I like to boil and partly because I think our hot water heater is on the fritz - I decided that I'll just start over today. I made myself a list of simple things that I hope will make me a better momma and in turn, help me go to sleep at night. I'm going to take a break from reading about ways to deal with determined children and just determine to make it through the day with mine embracing the passionate, curious, ingenuity-on-steroids-that-disassembles-my-house traits in the most positive way I can. Rather than a schedule or a routine, I'm going to stick with the lovely rhythm that we seem to have fallen into at long last, and not worry about all the rest. I think, in the interest of my heart, I'm going to make an extra concerted effort not to care that I do things differently than the rest of the world and to remember that doesn't mean it's wrong. (In fact, it could even be incredibly, oustandingly better!) I'm going to stand in awe of these two miracles that I am lucky enough to guide, teach and love. And I'm going to listen to the tug at my heart that seems to draw us in a slightly different direction than most.
Perhaps if I let myself go down the path that my heart tells me we should, my heart won't take such a beating some days.
So Happy New Year! Auld Lang Syne! And please don't feel obligated to stay up until midnight on my account.
