Some of the laundry has been put away. The other half sits in the dryer. It is a similar situation for the dishes. But the groceries are in their place, and for once, on grocery day, I know what I am making for dinner.
On the floor rests a stuffed chicken, a toy airport, and a plastic parrot gone AWOL from his pirate ship. I should do something else while the boys nap, but I fear waking them up. I don't want to stop listening to the birds chirping and the boys snoring.
Illness seems to have finally vacated our home. Finally.
Our days have been filled with many things. Bug has learned to do a puzzle and to drink from a straw. Bubby creates imaginative worlds, usually involving helicopters, and even invites little brother to join him. There are tantrums and time-outs. We were at the mall for ten minutes on Friday before I turned the stroller around and went home. I'm a mean mom. The weather was beautiful on Saturday, and our attitudes weren't too shabby either, so we hit the park. I'm not a naturalist at all, but time in the sun and the breeze does me some good.
I can't get enough of these two little boys - the ones I watched last night with their footie-jammie-feet sticking out of the doorway while they played with cars and trucks. Yet, but by bedtime all I seem to want is some time alone and a good book.
This morning Bubby was humming at breakfast. It should be noted that my crazy kid picked cereal over leftover pancakes. When I asked what he was singing, he replied, "The radio song. Call me baby." Pop culture has found its way into our preschooler's life.
Last week was our anniversary. Eight years. We didn't have plans, but at the last minute,thanks to a friend coming to babysit, and thanks to me being an awesome wife, we made some. Dinner at a place we last ate at three years ago. A place where a children's menu does not even exist. And it was glorious. I may have mentioned that I wanted to take a bath in the lobster bisque.
But it's back to reality around here, and that is okay.