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Rainbow dash

"I want to whisper something in your ear," Squish told me as Bug and my husband were leaving for Kindergarten this morning.

I bent down to listen.

"I am going to squish Rainbow Dash," Squish whispered.

I suggested that it wasn't very nice to squish people.  Squish corrected me on two points: (1) Rainbow Dash is not a person - she is a pony; and (2) she is not real.

Fair enough.  I decided to let his imagination work its magic while I nursed Pumpkin before taking them both to school today.

The three of us made our way upstairs so I could nurse and rock Pumpkin, and I had suggested that Squish look at books on my bed.

When I checked on Squish before I settled in with Pumpkin, I saw him sitting on my bed, criss-cross-applesauce, staring at the wall ahead of him.

"[Squish], you don't want to read books this morning?"



Proud to report that Pumpkin, who discovered her feet a mere ten days ago, can now put them in her mouth.  

Also, trying to blog daily this month is crazy difficult.  


Can it be NaBloPoMo every other day?

Too many priorities.   Trying to avoid the trap from everything being a priority (nothing will be a priority).

At this very moment, sleep has to be the priority.  Pumpkin is sleeping in her crib.  Bug and Squish are snuggled in their bottom bunk and sleeping.  

So I suppose this blog post is just a very long way of writing, "good night."



Monday mornings are that time when I look at Pumpkin and realize how short the weekend was.  

Then I take her to daycare.  

And Monday evenings are that time when I realize how long weekdays are.  

Then I nurse Pumpkin and put her to bed.   

When Bug was a baby, I worked part-time (four days a week) until he was one.  I remember the night I did the math in my head while I nursed him at bedtime.  I calculated the number of waking hours he would be spending with the nanny and compared it to the number he had with me. I was okay because I had more.  

I worked part-time (four days a week) until Squish was almost nine months old. He and I had Fridays together just the two of us for months even after I returned to work.  

I can't afford to work four days a week now.  

 I know I am actually really lucky in so many ways, but Mondays just leave me feeling a little broken-hearted lately.  


Bright spot

When I wasn't checking social media for answers today, I was wrangling the boys.  

Into swim clothes
To swim lessons (Squish went; Bug abstained)
Out of swim clothes 
Into the car after Pumpkin started to go berzerk in her stroller on the playground 
Up the stairs to our front door
And so on and so forth

In the afternoon we decided to go to the grocery store for chocolate chips so that we could make cookies.  

More wrangling. 

Then in the middle of it all, Bug started singing a silly song while he danced in a circle around me.  

In my arms, Pumpkin was entranced.  She loved his song and dance and started to laugh. Her sweet, five-month-old belly laugh.  

I looked down to my right, and Squish was sitting cross-cross-applesauce with his palms facing upward meditating.  

That was my favorite moment today.  Absurd and light filled.   And I am  grateful for it.  



Keeping France in thoughts and prayers tonight.  


The bounce back

I offered to pick up all three munchkins today because my husband was making all of us a delicious dinner. 

First stop - Bug.  

His after school program takes place in a big gymnasium.  On one side of the gym, kids can draw, read, and have snacks.  On the other side, they usually play a sport.  

I didn't see Bug on the drawing side so went to check the sports side.  Not there either.  

I went back to the first side and found him sitting quietly, looking at the floor.  I asked how he was doing, and he said he felt sick.  

To his stomach.  

A long night of barfing flashed before my eyes, and I felt queasy myself. 

I brought Bug home to my husband and headed back out to get Squish and Pumpkin. 
Squish was easy to get today. He was in full Diligent Helper mode and went with me to get Pumpkin from the infant room. 

Pumpkin was tired but her usual, dear self.  Then one of her "teachers" told me that Pumpkin gets angry after she finishes bottles during the day, and that she needs more to eat.  

Nothing like feeling inadequate at the end of a drizzly fall day.  

Fifteen minutes later, when we were all home again, Squish asked, "Where is the ukulele?"

"The ukelele?!?!??"

"THE UKELELE I GOT FROM SCHOOL!!!!!!  WHERE IS IT?!?!!?" Squish explained. 

"Sweetie, it must be at school.  I didn't realize you won it this week."


For about a minute this evening, it felt like everything was completely falling apart.  Oldest kid on the verge of the barfs.   Middle kid apoplectic about a ukelele.  And starving baby.  

Somehow the night actually turned out just fine. 

Pumpkin was a happy baby, blowing raspberries while I ate dinner.  Hardly a baby in need. 

Squish was a happy monkey, playing a rhyming puzzle game with my husband after dinner.  

Bug was a happy kid, practicing writing in a notebook while he curled up under a blanket in the family room.  

The daily tribulations sometimes seem to pile one on top of another until it isn't that easy to shrug them off.  But I think I can see (this evening, at least) that what goes down must go up around here.  Thank goodness.