Apparently the best laid plans of mamas are much like those of mice and men. Last night was no exception.
We've been sucked into the polar vortex. It's freezing. It's hard to get out of bed and all I want to do is drink hot chocolate. We're already jamming Christmas tunes in the car. It's that cold.
It's so cold, in fact, that on the way to school yesterday I told Pumpkin I was already thinking about getting back in my jammies. So I made big plans for the Browns to get home from work and get in jammies, light a fire, and have grilled cheese and chili while we watch Christmas movies.
So, I got home. We took baths. We were in jammies before 6 PM. Hubby made grilled cheese and chili. Holiday Inn was on Turner Classic Movies. The scene was set for my perfect cold night in.
The girls, of course, had other plans. They were berserk. They couldn't get along for more than two minutes. They wouldn't eat. They were tired. They were hungry for anything other than what we had. They wanted to watch "Doc Doc Stuffy" and not "mama show." They were crying on or off. I wanted to scream. Hubby forgot milk at the store. The dog was shivering from cold and possibly fear. Bug touched the glass front to the fireplace.
Sheesh.
But then amidst the drama, every time Marjorie Reynolds would dance with Fred Astaire the girls would stop mid-squeal and start twirling around the room, bending, leaping, and arabesque-ing as though they were at the Holiday Inn with Bing and the gang. Bug would look over her shoulder back at the television to make sure she was getting the moves right. Pumpkin was more confident in her own style.
All I could do was embrace the insanity; and the fact that in the middle of it, there are always moments of sweetness and hilarity that make it all worth while.
We've been sucked into the polar vortex. It's freezing. It's hard to get out of bed and all I want to do is drink hot chocolate. We're already jamming Christmas tunes in the car. It's that cold.
It's so cold, in fact, that on the way to school yesterday I told Pumpkin I was already thinking about getting back in my jammies. So I made big plans for the Browns to get home from work and get in jammies, light a fire, and have grilled cheese and chili while we watch Christmas movies.
So, I got home. We took baths. We were in jammies before 6 PM. Hubby made grilled cheese and chili. Holiday Inn was on Turner Classic Movies. The scene was set for my perfect cold night in.
The girls, of course, had other plans. They were berserk. They couldn't get along for more than two minutes. They wouldn't eat. They were tired. They were hungry for anything other than what we had. They wanted to watch "Doc Doc Stuffy" and not "mama show." They were crying on or off. I wanted to scream. Hubby forgot milk at the store. The dog was shivering from cold and possibly fear. Bug touched the glass front to the fireplace.
Sheesh.
But then amidst the drama, every time Marjorie Reynolds would dance with Fred Astaire the girls would stop mid-squeal and start twirling around the room, bending, leaping, and arabesque-ing as though they were at the Holiday Inn with Bing and the gang. Bug would look over her shoulder back at the television to make sure she was getting the moves right. Pumpkin was more confident in her own style.
All I could do was embrace the insanity; and the fact that in the middle of it, there are always moments of sweetness and hilarity that make it all worth while.
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