Friday, March 29, 2013

That's How I Know It's Been A Good Day.

For the better part of today, the toddler has been running around the house saying, "Honey, wee-you ree-yax?" followed by a rather dramatic, dejected sigh. If I wasn't mistaken, he even nailed the eye roll that accompanies that apparently oft-declared sentiment. 

I laugh to myself, a little bit because he's right, I do need to relax and a little bit more because it's nice to know that what I say all day isn't necessarily falling on deaf ears despite it feeling that way. 

I'm struggling today, still feeling a little under the weather from the plague that struck our house earlier this week but also my mothering could use a pick me up. Having just clicked "buy" on our second OnDemand movie for the day only minutes before happily having handed over a desired request for "not two, mama, but three cookies," complete with show of fingers. 

Today I'm all about survival and I'll be damned if I let the kids win. It is evident that Brave is not a hit in our house as I can hear the boys fighting over the iPad that one of them must've pulled from the deep crevices of the family room sectional. If only they knew how privileged they really are, watching one paid-for movie on a TV that hangs in our living room, arguing over streaming another on their portable tablet. 

Although we don't do anything outrageous for Easter, I completely dropped the ball on procuring small gifts for the boys' Easter baskets. I was so wrapped up with leaving their goodie bags before my trip last week that I completely overlooked their empty baskets sitting on the server in our living room. One basket is even lacking someone's name. How's that for planning?

Thankfully at the rescue of one of those second-day shipping online baby and kid meccas, I was able to order their books, bubbles and puzzles and come Sunday morning they will be none the wiser. The Easter Bunny may have even thrown in a Big Wheel for a certain dejectedly sighing toddler. 

Tugging at the hem of my black yoga pants is the baby. I scoop him up into my lap and let's just say it's taking me far too long to type this single paragraph. I close my eyes as I inhale his sweet baby smell, sucking in tiny baby hairs and letting them tickle my lips. 

His head smells like spit and that's when I know it's been a good day. I look over at the toddler, curled up on the couch with a dump truck, fishing goldfish crackers from it's dump trailer and I call him over to me. For what it's worth I absolutely had to look up "what's the dump part of a dump truck called?" 

He quickly jumps up, bounces over the cushions  and I wince as he effortlessly swings one leg, then the other, tossing his little body over the back of the couch. He climbs up onto the chair that precariously withstands the weight of both myself and his brother and I try to be discreet as I bury my nose in his head. 

I hope he never outgrows this and I know that is foolish of me to believe. 

And that's when I find it. That sweet spot behind his ear that smells like spit. I've done my job. 

Another day, another two little boys whose heads smell sweetly of far too many kisses. That's how I know it's been a good day. 

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