Wednesday, April 24, 2013

It's the Little Things

I must have really won the girls over yesterday with the popcorn and ice cream dinner. Eva provided me with the sweetest note and portrait of myself:




Grace sent me this text message as well today.


It melted my heart that they paused their screaming match long enough to think of me in a way other than referee.

Sadly, the moment passed way too quickly and I was back to who did what first and why and how and “OMG she’s ruining my life”!

Brother Alex just persevered with the tormenting right up and past bed time. What a hard worker that one is! No need to pause for sweet sentiments to his momma when he can go on picking on the baby while stepping over and around and on his book bag and homework that he so graciously spread throughout the entire living room.

I decided to revel in the moment of my daughters’ sweet gestures and take a long, hot shower.

Apparently the shower wasn’t quite long enough because the kids were all still awake when I got out. Layla has been quite the challenge to get to sleep these past few weeks. She typically sleeps in my bed since she has conquered climbing out of the crib. Although, she just recently conquered climbing out of my bed as well.

I just wasn’t ready tonight for bed at 8pm nor did I have the patience to lay with her for the next two hours hoping she’d fall asleep. So I tucked her in, ran like hell, closed the door at the bottom of the steps and prayed she wouldn’t fall down them.

Grace and I have been a teeny bit obsessed with Gossip Girl. But since the flooding of the basement last week and the overall lack of effort I’ve put into cleaning it up, the big TV has been off-limits. She couldn’t stand the suspense anymore, so we snuggled up in her bed with my laptop that she claims as her own and got our NYC rich girl fix.

By 10:30pm, we were both dosing off. I opened the door to head up to my room. On the bottom two stairs was a baby wrapped in a pink fleece blanket. She was sound asleep. Beds are highly overrated anyway.

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