Reclaiming Thelma

Sorry about the whining yesterday but it really did help.

And tonight I decided this far and no more.

I reclaimed what was mine.

I reclaimed my time with my children. I gathered them around me tonight and didn't let them go.

I reclaimed my daughter. After her repeated requests for time with me, we did a cooking show while we prepared dinner (and now I'm going to ask my lovely assistant Emma to stir these onions while I expertly chop the peppers). The black bean burgers turned out much better this time and I think it was all of the silliness flying around the kitchen that did the trick.

I reclaimed the kitchen table. After dinner and over strawberry/banana/chocolate milkshakes (we started adding things and couldn't stop) we taught Mark how to play Skipbo. I love that he's old enough to learn more games. He was highly offended that trading wasn't part of the game.

I reclaimed the futon upstairs. I burrowed between arms and legs and children leaning over and into me and I read them a story from the Friend magazine. When is the last time that happened?

And I lost a few things.

The impatient clip to my voice.

The deep crease between my eyebrows.

While it was not perfect and still had it's share of Mark flicking his milkshake around the table with his straw, Emma scooping ice cream...up to her elbows, and Braeden arguing his way along, it was altogether better to be here than anywhere I could have been. And it's been a long time since we were home for a peaceful (relatively peaceful) evening.



If you were here, you could see the smile on my face, repentant after yesterday's angst.