Everyday Life: Monday is groaning

I could almost hear a collective groan resounding from my cramped bed early this morning when the boys and I peeled open our eyelids and found a a house that was void of the ever-popular daddy.



After having him at our every beck and call during our three-day weekend at the lake, this Monday after even a mini-vacation felt long, arduous and a little empty.



It felt especially so, this particular Monday morning, because not only was it void of daddy but it was also void of Buba, Grandma, Aunt Christy and a vast, sprakling lake nestled against fine Michigan sand, which just happened to be conveniently situated immediately outside of the cabin's front door.



And so I found myself trying to grant extra grace, extra patience, extra understanding for the long, sad faces that were bemoaning our return home after a too-short escape to the beach.



Because if I'm having trouble holding back my displeasure and I'm 28 years old with the ability to reign it all in, I can't even imagine how hard it is for preschoolers and toddlers, who wear their hearts on their sleeves, to put on their happy faces.

But it seems as though we've survived, seeing as it's 4:30 in the afternoon, and I'm not hiding in the bathroom, rocking back and forth on the floor mumbling something about wine and chocolate while the boys run amok through the hallways threatening mutiny on each other and me.

And we even managed a few smiles -- granted they were induced by things like a Starbucks run and morning at Vacation Bible School and Toy Story 3.

But I think that counts when it's Monday and everyone involved in Monday is sighing a collective post-vacation groan.


After this, though, can you blame them {us? me!} after three whole days and nights of this?

Everday Life: A Flare for the Dramatics

Ninety degree must be an understatement, I moan internally, as we trudge through the muggy afternoon air toward the park.

G, however, cares not about extreme temperatures, so he rides his bike full force a few dozen feet in front E's slowly moving stroller.

We play for about five minutes after arriving, and E toddleruns to his stroller and stretches out beneath his sun shade.

G and I play for three more minutes before I declare that I am absolutely parched and need some water before I fall face-first on the grass and need G to push both his brother and me home in the stroller.

G sighs and reluctantly resigns his play and boards hi bike so we can head back home for water.

Upon entering the house, we're met with a draft of humid air.

I groan, feel the top layer of a tshirt from my drenched skin and declare that the humidity is as thick as a rainforest's and that air conditioning must.happen.now.

I flip the switch for AC, and G and I go about the house closing all the doors and windows only to reconvenine in the living room and wonder where on Earth his little brother has gone.

We search the kitchen and the bathroom and the laundry room, and there's no sign of E.

G ventures toward the stairs to continue our manhunt and calls, "Mom! I found him. Come look!"

I venture toward his voice, and there's my baby ...

sprawled across the AC vent, slightly smirking, quietly basking in all of its chilly glory.

He has such a flare for dramatics, my youngest guy -- wonder where on Earth he got it from.