It’s official. Phil’s in Florida for the next eleven days, so these kids are getting a whole lotta Mama. Step 1: Set alarm clock. Because when Phil’s home I never manage to oversleep, and I never look at a clock. Step 2: Throw alarm clock. Step 3: Tell my sweet (now awake) children to fetch said alarm clock. Step 4: Big time snooze and major cuddle time. The best.
First Lucas climbed into bed. To which I responded, “Kid, we have twenty minutes. Two. Zero. Ready, set, back to sleep!”
“Okay, Mama, but no stealing all the dreams.” Love!
Abigail joins us at minute sixteen. She sandwiches herself between Lucas and me, which he just won’t have.
Step 4: Break up pre-breakfast brawl. Step 5: Sneaky kiss attack, where I threaten to steal every last dream. Step 6: Strawberries, banana, and oatmeal with a few mini chocolate chips, because I’m Bill Cosby like that (Dad is great, he’s givin’ us chocolate cake!). And then we move on to matters of life and death: a conversation on swim lessons.
I’ve signed the tater-tots up for hardcore swim lessons. Again. Every single day, I will whisk them up from school mid-day, then shuttle them over to the home of another “swim client,” where they’ll each have an intense 10-minute swim lesson. Only this time, I’m going to make sure it’s not just the one week (five-times), but several consecutive lessons for several weeks. These guppies of mine had better know inverted breaststroke by month’s end.
And… we’re back.
Swimming was a no-go today. I began the day with a little game tape session, post-breakfast but pre-school—where I played them the footage I’d taken of their lessons last summer. Revise that. I played them the non-screaming hysterical, swallowing water, gagging, cough-burping, old man sounds, crying moments. Then I told them how I’d be picking them up from school early for new (ISR) swim lessons. Abigail’s teacher was awesome and then some, offering, each and every day, to change Abigail into her bathing suit stuff for me, so when I swoop her up, she’s good to go. I love the JCC in Austin. Love. I digress.
Lessons cancelled due to this misty cold weather, which I often describe as “walking through God’s sneeze.” To keep warm tonight, I’m drinking alone. Though is one ever really alone when there’s an Oregon Pinot Noir from Willamette Valley (always an excellent choice, FYI) in the house?
Other news: Wednesday afternoon is Parents Come Watch Day at Lucas’s Super Sports class at the J. Friday afternoon I’ll be attending an “Envirofair” at the Ann Richards School with my Girl Scout troop! Saturday Abigail has a long dress rehearsal for her ballet & tap dance recitals (outfit changes and all), and I’m not sure what to do with Lucas. Thinking this will be his idea of torture after a while. Then, Sunday, Mother’s Day is Abigail’s actual recital—not really fair when you think about it. I mean, what if I had a wobbly stretched out vag and six kids? “Sorry, lambs of my loin and groin, but now we all need to go to your sister’s recital.” Random, but the instruction sheet says that I need to call the instructor only if I object to putting makeup on my daughter. Wouldn’t they just assume that none of these four-year-olds are going to be in makeup? This is not a Toddlers & Tiaras town (thank heavens!). Also, they want hair up in a ponytail, with curls “spilling out everywhere.” Who the hell would take a curling iron to her daughter’s hair? Not me. I’d take my mother-in-law.