When a kid in a santa hat looks like this at me, mother-of-the-year is not looming in my near future. Love IS like a battlefield. Don't let anyone kid you.
The weekday rule around here is NO T.V.
When mom steps out, apparently the rules don't count.
So I resort to doing things like this:
Most of the time it doesn't work.
I need a stunt double to help me enforce the rules.
Made YUMMY bread bowls and soup last night.
Better than Panera.
Children under the age of 14 didn't think it was so yummy.
That left only three of us that did.
(More for us!)
The others did things like this while they sat and watched us eat:
Today was gorgeous.
Record high of 66 in Boston.
Which is where I was, when Dub called me to say "If you're not out walking on a day like this, you're missing out." Which I did. (miss out) Because I was sitting in the waiting area for a couple of hours for a renowned brain surgeon at Mass General. With my friend M****. She's five months recovered from her brain surgery, and got the all-clear this afternoon. No restrictions. It was a moment to rejoice, and I was glad to be there with her to share in it. And the sun beating in the window on the back of my hair was divine. And we talked. With no interruptions.
Then I went home and hung wreaths and Christmas lights without getting frostbite on my fingers, because that's what usually happens this time of year. So I did very much appreciate the warm spell.
And just to follow-up on my Christmas cookie cravings, I made some dough the other day, with FULL intentions to turn it into some sweet little gingerbread people. But the day ran away, and I had to start rolling out the dough at bedtime. Then it totally stuck to the table because it was too sticky. I just turned the oven off, rolled it back into a ball and put it back in the fridge. Put myself to bed with visions of gingerbread men dancing in my head. And the dough's still in there. Waiting. So tonight, my treat was this:
And it was good.