We went to T's mom's house and kept it simply. We were home late, as per usual on a Friday and we deposited the kids into bed and crashed. Well, almost.
I, of course, couldn't sleep. And so I spent an hour on my phone first.
Then I crashed. Sort of.
I saw the clock several times throughout the night and when my alarm went off this morning I snoozed...thrice.
The family was going to temple today, a sporadic event around here. T had briefly entertained the notion of taking Monkey along and had even asked me about it. But when I said I would rather not go she got hesitant and then when E flat out said no, she dropped it. I could tell she really, really wanted to, but I don't want to set a precedent here. If I am going to make it to a service any given weekend, it's mine.
She was completely understanding and said if I had any reservations about it to say no, so I did.
So I fed the rascal and put him down for a nap and super cleaned whatever I had missed in the house this week and then crashed on the day bed for what will be one of the last times.
J has finally outgrown his toddler bed and will soon inherit the day bed. I guess I should clarify that it is not actually a day bed as much as it is a mattress on a box spring on the floor where I nap and fold laundry.
E and T both apologized for taking my resting place, but there is an empty bed frame upstairs waiting for it, and J.
Sigh.
I guess I could nap on the couch.
T got a call about their building in the city and they had to run our of here tonight. They left leftovers for dinner and so I planned a movie night with the kids. We sat down to eat quickly so we could make popcorn and dance.
The big kids asked for a story while they ate and my mind was completely blank, so as I moved about the kitchen adding the last minute touches to their plates and mine and gathering everyone's cups from various counter tops I said,
"This is the story of a lovely lady who was bringing up three very lovely girls."
I went on from there, reciting the entire part about the girls, all the way up to where my memory gets hazy and then I laughed and laughed.
Unfortunately, the confused kiddies didn't get it, and also I was seriously dating myself, not only with the song, but with my behavior.
I have seen my mother make a "funny" (and I'm using the term loosely here) and then double over at what she had said and here I was literally reenacting a night in her kitchen during my childhood.
Well that was a sobering thought.
I cleared my throat and tried again.
"The Brady Bunch, The Brady Bunch..."
My mind couldn't stop. The tune was too catchy and no other stories were coming to mind. It was still funny and the kids were still not laughing.
It's official. I have become my mother.
When the kids finally started yelling for a new story I sat down and gave them the only thing I had left.
My childhood.
I told them a few good ones about various nights in my crazy house and that entertained them through rice, chicken and veggie stew.
As we moved on to course three: popcorn, the stories pittered out and we started a movie. The munchkins were introduced to The Jungle Book and more importantly, Baloo, who I still have a crush on. They loved him and the movie and it ended early enough to start another movie.
Their attention spans however, had had it for the day but I wasn't ready to get up, so I will teach you all another gem.
Much like finding diamonds in my hair, this game keeps them occupied and happy while I get a free massage. It's not child labor if they enjoy it.
This actually started with my sister, many moons ago. She would trace pictures on my back with her finger and I would guess what they were. She discovered at an early age how relaxing it was and demanded I return the favor.
When I lived with my niece last year (shout out to Eva!) I asked her to draw on my back with her finger and somehow the game developed into drawing on my back with a pen.
Tonight, when I knew I didn't have the energy to stand and the kids were getting wild I asked them what they wanted to do. They thought hard about it and while we think we stroke our invisible beards and twirl our invisible mustaches. So, before anything else, we stuck on the paper ones we had made in the afternoon, thought about it and then R said she wanted to do something special.
Well, what is more special than drawing on Kimmy's back?
That's right.
Nothing.
Facial hair safely stowed away for future thinking sessions, I supplied them with a pen and they went to town. I wasn't able to photograph my own back but I can tell you that R drew an entire village worth of herself and autographed her work in several places. She only knows how to write her name and so every person she draws is either thinking about her, talking about her or her.
We'll work on her self-absorption after I've dealt with mine.
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