Mother's Day
This past weekend we celebrated Mother's Day. We did it a week early as we had unavoidable conflicts for the "official" holiday, but that was better anyway because the weather was gorgeous!
On Sunday morning Ryan woke up at the crack of dawn. No kidding. 6AM and he was raring to go! He hopped out of bed and began shouting instructions. "DOWN-TAIR, Mommy Yarma. Waffewl time!" Huh??? Waffle time? Really??? You're demanding waffles this early on a weekend? For real??? "WAFFEWL TIME, MOMMY YARMA! DOWN-TAIR!!!"
All right, already. I blearily stumbled out of bed, taking a still-sleepy Colin with me, and we all trooped downstairs. I gave the boys some fruit as I whipped up some waffles (thank goodness for pre-made Kodiak pancake/waffle batter!) and put on coffee. And in short order we were all sitting down, watching Bananas in Pyjamas on the iPad as we ate waffles, sausage and apples. Hari joined us and fed Sydney, by which time we were functional enough to mobilize the troops. I dug around in our Hoarders garage, found the backpack for Ryan, and by 10:00 we were all dressed, packed and in the van heading to Merrill Creek for a hike.
We arrived, and everyone ate a quick lunch (soy butter and jelly sandwiches) and we headed off. It was a perfect day - probably mid-60s, sunny and dry. Sydney was pulling like a manic because she was so excited, Ryan was singing (Baaaaad Daddies, baaaaad Daddies...) from his perch in the backpack on Hari's back, Colin was darting around like a minnow, and I was just happy to be out and enjoying everyone. The hike was pretty uneventful - except for one thing. When we finally got back to the car we realized we had gone roughly 6 miles, and our 4-year-old son had walked about 3/4 of the way. That's CRAZY!! The last mile and a half (or so) he asked to be carried, and he rode piggy-back (sleeping most of the way). The kid is a serious trooper!
From there we drove back toward home, stopped at the grocery store for supplies (Hari kept the kids and Syd in the car while I ran through speed-shopping for the week!), then it was home for Cinco De Mayo! We began unloading, and as fate would have it... I sprained my freaking ankle in my own front yard. A six-mile hike over rough terrain, sometimes jogging with a 4-year-old on my back, and I'm fine. Walking down our driveway 15-feet to the car and I get injured. It happened so fast, and it was a bad one. One second I was walking, thinking about dinner and the boys and then BLAMMO! I'm laying on the ground writhing in pain. I must have shouted because Hari came running outside in a flurry, asking what happened and if I could move my ankle while he offered to and get me on my feet and if he should call 911. No, I just need a minute. Give me a minute. Just get Ryan inside, OK. I lay there clutching my leg, eyes closed, seriously wondering if I could move it or not... and the next thing I know I hear Colin, standing over me. "Mommy? Are you OK?" He sounded so worried, so I told him I fell and my foot hurt. "Here, Mommy. Do you feel better now?" As he said that, he crawled on top of me (incredibly carefully!) and gave me a giant hug. Yes, Colin. I do feel better now. Thanks, Buddy. The crazy part of it? I really did feel better.
That said, I was still injured. I hobbled inside, with Colin at my side, and was met at the door by Hari who handed me an icepack and walked me over to the big chair where he set me up with my foot propped on a pillow on the ottoman. Ryan climbed into my lap, and Colin requested Blues Clues, so we all sat together and watched a little TV while Hari started putting away all the groceries. The next thing I know, Hari is bringing me a margarita, a bottle of water, and some Aleve.
We had an enjoyable dinner (Hari's nachos, my guacamole) and I went to bed early with the boys while Hari continued to hold down the fort, cleaning up from dinner and taking Sydney out at the end of the night.
And while yesterday was truly spectacular, it was this morning that I really gave it serious thought. The boys and I were downstairs, and as we sat there eating our breakfasts, I realized that it isn't the big Mother's Day celebrations that matter. I'm not turning down being spoiled for the day, but the things that really make my day are when my boys are in my arms, giving me hugs. Or laughing and squealing with delight as they climb on me pretending to eat me (depends on the day - sometimes they're monsters, lions, sharks... ). Or just reaching up and holding my hand because they want to (not because I've demanded it). Or just saying my name because they like being around me.
There will come a day when my boys are grown. When hugs and smiles will be few and far between because they'll have lives of their own. And so I greedily treasure these moments when I have them all to myself. For now I'm not competing with friends and girlfriends and sports and work, so I'm storing up every precious moment. Hoarding memories and soaking up precious moments (even the ones where they are driving me nuts!). Because as far as I'm concerned, every day that I can get a hug, or a kiss, or a smile is Mother's Day.
On Sunday morning Ryan woke up at the crack of dawn. No kidding. 6AM and he was raring to go! He hopped out of bed and began shouting instructions. "DOWN-TAIR, Mommy Yarma. Waffewl time!" Huh??? Waffle time? Really??? You're demanding waffles this early on a weekend? For real??? "WAFFEWL TIME, MOMMY YARMA! DOWN-TAIR!!!"
All right, already. I blearily stumbled out of bed, taking a still-sleepy Colin with me, and we all trooped downstairs. I gave the boys some fruit as I whipped up some waffles (thank goodness for pre-made Kodiak pancake/waffle batter!) and put on coffee. And in short order we were all sitting down, watching Bananas in Pyjamas on the iPad as we ate waffles, sausage and apples. Hari joined us and fed Sydney, by which time we were functional enough to mobilize the troops. I dug around in our Hoarders garage, found the backpack for Ryan, and by 10:00 we were all dressed, packed and in the van heading to Merrill Creek for a hike.
We arrived, and everyone ate a quick lunch (soy butter and jelly sandwiches) and we headed off. It was a perfect day - probably mid-60s, sunny and dry. Sydney was pulling like a manic because she was so excited, Ryan was singing (Baaaaad Daddies, baaaaad Daddies...) from his perch in the backpack on Hari's back, Colin was darting around like a minnow, and I was just happy to be out and enjoying everyone. The hike was pretty uneventful - except for one thing. When we finally got back to the car we realized we had gone roughly 6 miles, and our 4-year-old son had walked about 3/4 of the way. That's CRAZY!! The last mile and a half (or so) he asked to be carried, and he rode piggy-back (sleeping most of the way). The kid is a serious trooper!
From there we drove back toward home, stopped at the grocery store for supplies (Hari kept the kids and Syd in the car while I ran through speed-shopping for the week!), then it was home for Cinco De Mayo! We began unloading, and as fate would have it... I sprained my freaking ankle in my own front yard. A six-mile hike over rough terrain, sometimes jogging with a 4-year-old on my back, and I'm fine. Walking down our driveway 15-feet to the car and I get injured. It happened so fast, and it was a bad one. One second I was walking, thinking about dinner and the boys and then BLAMMO! I'm laying on the ground writhing in pain. I must have shouted because Hari came running outside in a flurry, asking what happened and if I could move my ankle while he offered to and get me on my feet and if he should call 911. No, I just need a minute. Give me a minute. Just get Ryan inside, OK. I lay there clutching my leg, eyes closed, seriously wondering if I could move it or not... and the next thing I know I hear Colin, standing over me. "Mommy? Are you OK?" He sounded so worried, so I told him I fell and my foot hurt. "Here, Mommy. Do you feel better now?" As he said that, he crawled on top of me (incredibly carefully!) and gave me a giant hug. Yes, Colin. I do feel better now. Thanks, Buddy. The crazy part of it? I really did feel better.
That said, I was still injured. I hobbled inside, with Colin at my side, and was met at the door by Hari who handed me an icepack and walked me over to the big chair where he set me up with my foot propped on a pillow on the ottoman. Ryan climbed into my lap, and Colin requested Blues Clues, so we all sat together and watched a little TV while Hari started putting away all the groceries. The next thing I know, Hari is bringing me a margarita, a bottle of water, and some Aleve.
We had an enjoyable dinner (Hari's nachos, my guacamole) and I went to bed early with the boys while Hari continued to hold down the fort, cleaning up from dinner and taking Sydney out at the end of the night.
And while yesterday was truly spectacular, it was this morning that I really gave it serious thought. The boys and I were downstairs, and as we sat there eating our breakfasts, I realized that it isn't the big Mother's Day celebrations that matter. I'm not turning down being spoiled for the day, but the things that really make my day are when my boys are in my arms, giving me hugs. Or laughing and squealing with delight as they climb on me pretending to eat me (depends on the day - sometimes they're monsters, lions, sharks... ). Or just reaching up and holding my hand because they want to (not because I've demanded it). Or just saying my name because they like being around me.
There will come a day when my boys are grown. When hugs and smiles will be few and far between because they'll have lives of their own. And so I greedily treasure these moments when I have them all to myself. For now I'm not competing with friends and girlfriends and sports and work, so I'm storing up every precious moment. Hoarding memories and soaking up precious moments (even the ones where they are driving me nuts!). Because as far as I'm concerned, every day that I can get a hug, or a kiss, or a smile is Mother's Day.
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