The weekend is ending just like it began, with plenty of family time and a big dinner together. Jason just declared tonight "Taco Night" (and - surprise! - Jemma actually ATE IT), and now the girls are downstairs reading books with Jason on the couch in front of a fire. In between Thanksgiving and today, our time was filled with getting our Christmas tree and decorating it; having a fun lunch at The Corner Bar in Rockford; a healthy run at the gym; swimming at the pool this afternoon; lots of cleaning, laundry, and house-decorating; a trip to the farmer's market for windowbox greenery and some Mommy Only shopping time yesterday afternoon; spontaneously taking Annie to a children's production of Twas The Night Before Christmas ballet at St. Cecelia's downtown (and subsequently waiting in line while she met Santa Claus and told him what she wanted for Christmas, which - Christmas miracle - I had just ordered online that morning); and a rousing grown-up Game Night with friends last night, which I thoroughly enjoyed despite my lack of love for most board games.
I admit, as we enter into the darkest, coldest, most challenging time of year for being a stay-at-home-mom (or parent of any type, really), that some days I cringe at the thought of all the holiday busyness and post-holiday crappy lull; at the germ potential lurking at each indoor location we frequent; at the thought of weeks and months of struggling to get two fully begloved, behatted, boot-wearing, coats-zipped children out the door into a car that needs to be brushed off. I wonder when Annie will stop asking me "Which coat?" when we're getting ready to leave the house and then dissolving into a pile on the floor when I say, "The puffy one." (Memo to Annie: It's winter. I'm going to be saying "the puffy one" for at least three or four more months; get used to it. And while we're on the subject, the answer to your question about your Crocs is a definitive NO, so stop asking about that, too.) I wonder, too, when I might be able to stop ending my phone conversations with Connie with a variation of the phrase: "I have to go; Jemma is (destroying a library book; coloring in the playroom with a Sharpie; climbing the dining room table . . . . )."
Today, though, was full of Christmas music, lazy coffee drinking, gleeful children showing off their pool bravery, and now a cozy fire in a house that smells like pine tree. I'm going to tuck my girls in bed, address some Christmas cards, and enjoy the gorgeous newfallen snow. Now. Before my hatred of winter has time to get the best of me.
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