It’s 7:13 on a Monday morning. I am not preparing two lunches. I am not beginning my gentle suggestions that we get dressed for school. I am not slurping and slopping coffee all over myself because I am clumsily multi-tasking breakfast prep for three children and maybe a bowl of cereal for me. I am not fooling my daughter into thinking that her hair is not being brushed while in reality I am trying to tame her lovely, but wooly bedhead mane. I am not surprising anyone with my bizarre (daily) request that we brush our teeth before we leave the house. I am not getting dressed in my running clothes wondering how in the heck I’m going to muster the energy to make my actual run after our morning preschool drop-off race. No. Not today.
It’s President’s Day.
According to Heath, my five year old, President’s Day is his favorite holiday. He hates (his word, not mine) Valentine’s Day, because it’s for the girls. Stella, my three old, hates Boweltimes’ Day (her word, but I think I’m going to make this one mine), because, well, Heath hates it. New Year’s Eve is a little scary due to the late-night fireworks. Christmas Day is an anticipatory, sensory overload destined to leave a five year old in a puddle of tears and snowman wrapping paper wreckage loudly requesting that we not have Christmas next year. And Heath took issue with the pilgrims when he dared to wonder, where did all the Indians go?
Apparently President’s Day is benign enough to celebrate. When I told the kids they would not have school on Monday, Heath suggested they spend the night at my parent’s house Sunday night and have a President’s Day party on Monday. I wasn’t sure what a President’s Day party was going to look like. Do you decorate with balloons? Eat marble cake shaped like the Oval Office? Take turns discussing your favorite and least favorite President and why? Play a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey (and Elephant, Whig, Boston Tea…)? Then it occurred to me that what we were really talking about was a nearly kid-free night for my husband and me. I could leave the party details in the capable and more than willing hands of the grandparents.
So what on earth did we do with our President’s Eve? We ate take-out Thai in an oh, so quiet house. Baby Forest sat in his high chair and enjoyed rice cereal and uninterrupted cooing and oohing and ahhing from both mom and dad. Baby was asleep by 7:30. Ice cream was consumed in bed while we watched something on TV, but I can’t remember what it was, and I was asleep by 9:05.
It’s 8:12 on President’s Day morning. Baby Forest is beside me on the bed kicking his feet around and making baby dinosaur noises. I should probably start baking 44 cupcakes, iced to look like each President. Washington will be easy, but I’m struggling to recall what #13 Millard Fillmore looks like.
It’s President’s Day.
According to Heath, my five year old, President’s Day is his favorite holiday. He hates (his word, not mine) Valentine’s Day, because it’s for the girls. Stella, my three old, hates Boweltimes’ Day (her word, but I think I’m going to make this one mine), because, well, Heath hates it. New Year’s Eve is a little scary due to the late-night fireworks. Christmas Day is an anticipatory, sensory overload destined to leave a five year old in a puddle of tears and snowman wrapping paper wreckage loudly requesting that we not have Christmas next year. And Heath took issue with the pilgrims when he dared to wonder, where did all the Indians go?
Apparently President’s Day is benign enough to celebrate. When I told the kids they would not have school on Monday, Heath suggested they spend the night at my parent’s house Sunday night and have a President’s Day party on Monday. I wasn’t sure what a President’s Day party was going to look like. Do you decorate with balloons? Eat marble cake shaped like the Oval Office? Take turns discussing your favorite and least favorite President and why? Play a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey (and Elephant, Whig, Boston Tea…)? Then it occurred to me that what we were really talking about was a nearly kid-free night for my husband and me. I could leave the party details in the capable and more than willing hands of the grandparents.
So what on earth did we do with our President’s Eve? We ate take-out Thai in an oh, so quiet house. Baby Forest sat in his high chair and enjoyed rice cereal and uninterrupted cooing and oohing and ahhing from both mom and dad. Baby was asleep by 7:30. Ice cream was consumed in bed while we watched something on TV, but I can’t remember what it was, and I was asleep by 9:05.
It’s 8:12 on President’s Day morning. Baby Forest is beside me on the bed kicking his feet around and making baby dinosaur noises. I should probably start baking 44 cupcakes, iced to look like each President. Washington will be easy, but I’m struggling to recall what #13 Millard Fillmore looks like.
I enjoyed reading your blog, and I am interested in a potential partnership. I am currently working on getting a bunch of running and running related blogs into the nSphere network.
ReplyDeletenSphere is developing a local search tool that I believe would be a good fit for your site. It would allow your visitors to connect to a rich source of relevant data while remaining on your site.
Do you have time to talk sometime this afternoon between 3 and 6 PM EST? Or, if you prefer we have two Webex seminars, one today at 12:30 PM EST, and one on Tuesday at 5:00 PM EST.
You can reach me at tgennaro@nsphere.net.
Thanks, and happy training!
Thom
This was an adorable post. I agree with Heath, President's Day is my favorite. Other holiday's are stressful and I really hate Boweltimes' Day.
ReplyDeleteYou are an incredible writer! The words read, as if gently flowing out of your mouth, stream of consciousness. I find myself near tears and laughter, both and at once. And such truth, so easy to identify with.
ReplyDelete