Domino Effect

I was busy doing some grown-up thing one afternoon this week when I noticed a little body pawing around a junk closet that had inadvertently been left open. She had a plastic phone jammed between her ear and shoulder and she was having a long conversation of some sort. Instead of immediately shooing her out of the closet (I mean, why punish her when it was my fault she was mildly unsupervised and that the closet was open in the first place?) I watched for a bit and then abandoned my grown-up agenda.

I sat down and played with her. Joined in the game she was already playing. Didn't try to suggest alternate activities. Didn't think about the laundry or the dishes or the bills or the internet. Just played.

She grabbed my hand and led me to her room where she was rocking her babies on the ottoman of her chair. She covered them with a blanket and we patted each one. I pretended the plastic phone rang, answered it, and handed it over to her. She said "Hi, Dada," then held it up to each baby, in turn, repeating, "Hi, Dada." She grabbed a book and pretended to read to them, then got distracted by all the books and so we sat down and read for awhile, plastic phone still in hand.

It was a domino effect, which led us from one activity to another all afternoon. We made music with water and cups, then just played with the water, banged pots and pans like drums, crawled around pretending to be animals, played hide-and-seek, and more.

And every once in awhile, she would say "hug" and wrap me up in a big bear hug or sneak in a kiss. She is very selective about affection lately, so these were prizes beyond compare.

It all left me wondering, what would have been the domino effect of the alternate path? What if I had kept on with my grown-up task instead? What are the effects of all the little choices we make throughout the day?

I know one thing for sure: parenting is a big job.

Flashback Friday: That Time I Could Run

So when I wrote this I made it seem like I'm a runner. Or at least that I run regularly. Or at least that I am capable of running.

I may have exaggerated a bit.

I have a love/hate relationship with running. It started when I joined the cross country team in middle school in order to be cool. I was never very good at it. It didn't make me cool either.

Regardless, I'm an "as-needed" exerciser, so when I start to feel a little pudgy, I turn to my old stand-by, running. And for a bit, I lace up my running shoes and proceed to sweat, huff and puff, feel like vomiting, and manipulate myself with thoughts like, "I'll try to run the whole time today. Okay, half-way. Alright, just to that next street. Maybe that stop sign. I'll alternate running and walking."

This will go on for awhile until mission accomplished and then my running shorts become pajama shorts again.

Except for this one time when the mission was to run a 5K. My friend that is forever convincing me to do things "suggested" we run one. So we did. And it was great. And I have a picture to prove I really did it.

That's me, in the back

I guess I didn't exaggerate too much when I suggested that I was capable of running. Because I am was. Five years ago.

I even finished it. Without walking. Seriously.

So this week I've been using my early morning time to run again. Which really means that I'm making a loop around a park, running one stretch, walking the next, and then trying to convince myself to run the next stretch again.

And I'm on a roll because I've done this twice this week. BAM! Take that, tight-fitting pants that I couldn't wear to church last week.

Mirror for Sale?

When my alarm went off at 6:25 this morning, I sat up and stared off in space for a few minutes. The hubby bustled around, finishing adjusting his tie and gathering his work things. He knows better than to talk to me first thing this early in the morning.

I finally hoisted myself from the bed, dug out a sports bra and pulled on some running shorts from the floor. I stumbled to the bathroom, put on my contacts, and brushed my hair into a messy ponytail. If I hadn't already scared my husband away from talking to me in the mornings, he might have offered to move over from the sink where he stood brushing his teeth so I could use the mirror. But like I said, he knows better.

So I fumbled with the coffee pot and poured some in a travel mug with extra creamer before loading into the car. In the backseat, the hubby was buckling in a cuddly little girl with sleepy eyes. If I had a caught a look at myself in the rear-view mirror as I backed out of the garage and onto the road to the Metro bus stop, I might have changed my morning plans. But I was focused on that precious girl blinking sweetly. And the hubby certainly wasn't going to say anything.

So we dropped him off in time for the commuter bus and drove to the park for an early morning workout. I ran and pushed the stroller. Amelia ate snack puffs and watched for airplanes and dogs. I huffed and puffed in the muggy air and stopped when I grew tired of the actual drops of sweat I was leaving behind. Then Amelia cleaned all the dew off the slides on the playground with her pajama bottoms and we headed home.

I spotted a garage sale sign on the way into the neighborhood and couldn't resist a drive-by. Turns out the family must have children a couple years ahead of us and needed to clean shop. So I parked, hauled the soggy bottom girl out of her seat, and began browsing with all the other early morning shoppers. I found too many treasures, including some great outdoor climbing toys, and realized I would need more cash.

After a quick trip to the ATM at the gas station down the street and a stop at the house to clear out the trunk, we returned to buy some low-priced goodies. Only after we had made it back home and changed the soggy diaper, and had breakfast, and played with the new toys, did I pop in the bathroom to take a quick shower.

YIKES! I was a mess! Now I'm no beauty queen when I wake up in the morning to begin with. And then there's Herbert. Add to that a sweaty workout and some serious humidity hair and you get a messy mommy monster. I mentally recalled everywhere I had showed my face that morning and cringed.

Too bad there wasn't a mirror for sale at that garage sale this morning. I think I might need one for future outings.

Wordless Wednesday

I'm on a sewing kick lately.

Eee! I'm all giddy about nap mat covers.

And finishing quilting projects from eons ago.

I'm a crafty nerd.

Time Talk

The cover article in Time this week caught some attention in our house. It is about how men and women work the same amount and share the child-rearing and household chores equally.

The hubby felt pretty justified.

I kept my mouth shut.

Then I checked out this little graphic and got a little offended. It says that "nonemployed mothers" work the least total hours. Hmph.

 

My thoughts got all indignant. Well, I feel like I work all day every day. I'm always on call. I don't get sick days or "vacation" away from my job.

Then I looked around.  Dishes were in the sink. Toys were strewn through the house. I was still not dressed for the day.

It was 3:00 pm.

Okay, so I see where they're coming from.

I kept my mouth shut.

MIA

as in Missing In Action...not the nickname.

Sheesh, I'm a terrible blogger. I thought maybe I just had a case of the blahs. That my days didn't contain anything interesting to blog about. Nobody wants to hear about grocery shopping, paying bills, and the giant zit taking over the left half of my face. I'm calling it Herbert.

But then I had a revelation.

When it comes to writing, I'm a percolator. Meaning I let thoughts and writing ideas soak in my brain for awhile before I'm ready to write about them. I think through what I might say and how I might say it. This is completely opposite of me in real life. If you're talking to me in person, you're likely to hear what I think the moment I think it. Just ask my husband.

So it all of a sudden came to me- Amelia is basically down to just one nap a day. Which means I don't have much percolating time these days. I guess that explains my lack of blogging lately. Well, I'll use the excuse anyway.

Guess we'll have to settle for hearing about groceries and zits, huh?

Wordless Wednesday

I know, I know. You three people who read my blog are asking, Where have you been? Well there was a little thing called staycation. And then Nana visited. And since Nana is my main reader, she already knew what was going on in my world.

Basically it was a lot of this:

And my little darlin' sobbed "Nana" for quite a bit of the ride home from the airport.


P.S. I'm going to finish my staycation posts and back-date them, so if you're curious, read below or check the archives. If nothing else, it will satisfy my little bit of OCD.