Summer vacation certainly seems luxurious and decadent for a stay-at-home mom. Imagine no set alarms or real reason to rise early in the morning. I live for non-busy weekends, holidays and vacations, so I can sleep in. And yet, it rarely happens due to a major wrench in my dreamy plans…my kids.
Sleeping in is a treasured teenage pastime. I loved snuggling in bed and not moving. Of course, I never slept till noon because of my mom. She’d drive me crazy by walking into my room at a “reasonable hour” and snapping up the shades. Before that, through the mist of slumber, I could hear her (intentionally?) banging pots and pans together in the kitchen. She just wanted us to enjoy the bright, glorious, sunshiny day! Throwing a pillow at her wasn’t an option.
Any married couple with children knows how elusive time alone with one's spouse can be.
Some days Hubby and I barely say three words to each other. When he comes home from work, I hardly have time to give him a peck and ask about his day before three little boys bombard him, all clamoring for his attention. We can forget having a conversation at the dinner table. While I feed the baby and try to get Lil C to eat anything, Hubby is trying to keep our older two at the table.
After dinner there are clean-up and bedtime routines and a baby to put to bed. By the time the chaos dies down and everyone is asleep, Hubby and I are both so tired, so desperate for a little quiet time in our own heads, we often retire to separate rooms of the house to watch t.v. or work on our computers.
When we were first married, we made pact that we would go out on a real date every month. One month he would plan, the next I would and so on. It worked for a while, until we got busy with our twins, and then we moved across the country.
And then we had more kids. And then cancer. And then we were grieving. And then I was pregnant, again. You get the gist.
What follows is a break-down of our evening.
What is with strangers touching my kids? I don't mean touching-touching, because that's nothing to joke about. I mean people coming up and patting my son's head with their grubby mitts, pinching my daughter's chubby cheeks, or trying to hold one of their cute, irresistible hands.
Resist, I say. You're being weird.