Today

I feel smug that I figured out the perfect way to get Mark up without him snarling at me like an angry bear cub.

Yesterday Emma wanted to play Robo Champ (our new game Grandma Geri gifted Mark with for his birthday...it's a Lego game.  For Mark.  What could be more fitting?) with me before she caught the bus .  I told Emma I needed to pack her lunch and eat breakfast and get ready to teach school but thanks for asking.  Then I said, "Go wake Mark up...he'll play with you."

And he did.  He bounded cheerfully out of bed.

I am so onto him and his "I'm exhausted" routine.

I feel conflicted about football.

I don't know that I've ever had many football thoughts in my life but my cousin, Harvey, the football player, is coming to town.  His team, the Atlanta Falcons are playing the Seahawks.  (Don't tell Seattle but I hope Atlanta wins this one.)  I called Harvey to see if he could come over for dinner.  (I would have had to contemplate later what to make for dinner.  Something that makes a lot?)  He couldn't.  He's a little busy.  Go figure.  He offered me free tickets to the game though.

That would be fun.

Except for one thing.

It's on Sunday and I'm the one that has spent her entire life learning what I should do on Sunday:  go to church.

The good news is that I was able to ask Harvey if he could give the tickets to Adam's brother who is a big fan.  It's nice to be able to make someone else happy.

I feel like my kids are gaining on me.  

Yesterday I took Braeden to the doctor because his knee has been hurting him.  He hurt it two years ago sledding and lately it's been bothering him again.  I didn't think it was that big of deal but he did.  He wrote "Call the Doctor" on my list.  (Lesson here being I will do what my list tells me to do...but not what my children tell me to do.)  The doctor told us that his old injury was hurting because he was growing and it was stretching.  We went to the doctor 37 days ago (unrelated) and he had grown 1/4 of an inch in that time.  If Braeden continues to grow 1/4" every month, he may realize his dream of being as tall as my brothers.  I doubt it, but a kid can dream right?

Last night, for Emma's school concert she was supposed to wear a red shirt and black skirt.  (She told me that on the way out the door yesterday morning.)  Luckily she had a black skirt but the red shirt she wanted to wear was not deemed worthy by her mother.  She had a little solo part and I wanted her looking shiny and bright.  I told her to wear my red sweater.  She said, "I won't look very good wearing a sweater that's way too big and looks like my mom's!"  (Because see, what Emma and I do is argue about clothes.)

The sweater fit her perfectly.

This morning I handed Mark his breakfast and said, "Here you go, Little Man." 

He said, "What did you call me?"

I said, "Aren't you a little man?"

Deeply offended, he said, "I am not little.  I am grown-up.  I am eight.  I have been for seven days now." 

I feel exuberant about Christmas vacation.

My mom was never one of those "Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again" sort of moms and neither am I.  I want my kids HOME.  I want to rock around the Christmas tree, roast chestnuts by an open fire, jingle bells, deck the halls, or at the very least, sleep in.  Two whole weeks of delicious time to play games, read books, and sip hot chocolate stirred with candy canes.

If things get a little slow, there's a lot of fudge in the fridge.  We'll be just fine.