My children's sleep has been interrupted more than usual lately. Mischief, who was sleeping through the night, is awake once or twice each night and Trouble, normally up once or twice, stands at the baby gate at his bedroom door and calls out for me two, three, four times each night.
I know that climbing into Trouble's bed with him reinforces the problem, but frequently I am too tired to do anything but collapse gratefully onto his mattress and pull the duvet up under my chin. Lately, I am asleep before he's even settled himself against me.
My house, usually mostly tidy, has devolved into an unmitigated disaster, and rather than work on cleaning it up while Mischief is in school and Trouble sleeps, I catnap on the couch, trying to claw as much rest as I can from the too-bright, too-short afternoons.
If I am not careful - if I do not plan some self-care into my weeks and months - it begins to seem hopeless, and my temper becomes as brittle as my ability to keep my eyes from leaking against my will. My cardinal rules of parenting (never say "because I said so", remember their perspective, consider how my words affect them) slip sneakily out the window and I don't even realise that they're gone until Mischief says something incredibly hurtful to me. As my eyes well up, I recognise that she's just parroting something back that I've said in a moment of frustration, and my cheeks flush with shame as I apologise.
If I have something to hold on to, though, a plan or a dream or a hope, it's easier to smile gently instead of groaning with impatience. It's easier to take the time to let Trouble put on his own shoes, even though it will make us late, and to do it with encouragement and praise instead of chiding and harsh words.
Right now, I am clutching tightly at a plan for a weekend very soon that I will spend all by myself. I might watch tv. I will certainly read in utter silence. I will nap when the thought occurs to me, and will sleep the night through. I might knit or have a bath or take my time over a crossword puzzle at a coffee shop. When I wake, it will be to smile sleepily as I realise that I have nowhere to be and am responsible for no one, and I will gleefully pull the blankets back up to my nose and roll over for another hour.
This may seem a rather pedestrian dream for most of you, but at the moment it's my idea of heaven. It's the only thing making it okay that it's 1:17 am and I've spent the last 45 minutes trying to get my children back to sleep, painfully aware that morning for me will come in just over 4 hours. I will have no opportunity to nap tomorrow and it will be a very long day, but I'm borrowing comfort, calm and patience from my getaway weekend, so it will all be okay.
On this weekend when North America celebrates mothers, I hope you're taking the time to celebrate yourselves. I hope that you find something to hold on to, and that it's big enough for you to borrow all of the patience, calm and comfort you need so you can be the amazing moms that each of you are.
Good night!
Showing posts with label jaimie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jaimie. Show all posts
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
No Mother's Day
The statistics in this video just break my heart.
Edited to add: For Mother's Day this year, I've asked my family to consider supporting Every Mother Counts by making a donation or giving me Every Mother Counts 2012 - a compilation album that looks fantastic (and has Diana Krall singing Don't Fence Me In!!).
Jeni's right - keeping silent on Mother's Day won't save any of those young women from dying in child birth, but even a small donation CAN save a life.
A rambling ode to squishy orange ear plugs
My children have never been good sleepers, and I'm reasonably certain that it's mostly my fault.
Sleep training (ie "ferberizing") didn't work with my daughter. We tried it on two consecutive nights, and both times, she cried until she threw up. The second night, I had to leave the house because I just couldn't bear to listen to her cry. It was awful, and I vowed that there had to be a better way, and refused to even entertain thoughts of trying it with my son. (If there is an effective way to help your kids learn to sleep through the night over a short period of time, I have yet to hear about it.)
I think now about the tactics I used to get Mischief to sleep and it makes me cringe a little, nauseous. I was so green at parenting, and didn't realize that it didn't need to be my way or the highway - that there could be a happy medium that didn't involve me putting a sobbing infant Mischief into my sling, zipping her under an enormous hoodie and then walking laps of the apartment until she stopped crying and fell asleep. That, as a toddler, my job shouldn't have been to make her sleep as much as it should have been to help her learn how to sleep.
So, you win some and you lose some. I imagine that my shift from too authoritarian (about sleep anyway) to too permissive arose from my guilt over how poorly I mismanaged Mischief's early sleep training, and so for years now, I've been the mom who gets up in the night every time the kids wake, climbing sleepily over the baby gate that closes off their room in the night and attending to every lost lovey, late-night thirst, midnight pee and bad dream.
(That's not to say that we haven't made other attempts at sleep training - before Trouble was born, I successfully weaned Mischief from being bounced to sleep on an exercise ball, and attempted with less success to teach her to fall asleep without one of us in her bed with her. We've tried a few times to encourage both kids to go back to sleep on their own after night wakings with mixed results, and have managed to transition our bed back to an adult bed from a family one.)
At 4.5, Mischief sleeps through the night 5 nights out of 7 now, and for that I am profoundly grateful, but Trouble is still up at least once per night, but usually more like 2 - 3 times. He always wants the same thing. "Climb into my bed with me, Mommy." Like a very sleepy chump, I always do.
Last week though, I splurged and bought myself some fluorescent orange squishy ear plugs. I've had a hard time using them - I've spent so long at the beck and call of the children that I feel guilty for intentionally making myself largely unavailable to them. I say largely because if Trouble stands at the baby gate and calls for me more than twice, I'll hear it. The few times I haven't heard it, DH has thrown a sharp elbow into my ribs (in his sleep no less) and I've gone in to settle Trouble back down.
This morning, Trouble woke (for the third time) around 4:30, and I heard it but was just too tired to get up right away. DH called out and told him to go back to sleep, and after calling for me four or five times and getting no response, he did just that! He climbed back into his bed and went back to sleep for another couple of hours. Hope springs eternal.
The amazing thing about the ear plugs is that when I have them in, I sleep more deeply than I have in years. I drop off to sleep, and don't know anything until I wake. It's so lovely. The Dawn Chorus (my avian nemesis!) no longer troubles me as I struggle to eke out just. one. more. hour, and when I stumble back to my room from Trouble's at 3:45, the sound of DH's gentle snores need no longer be cause for despair.
My pregnancy with Mischief went a full two weeks beyond my due date. It was my first pregnancy, and I had (and still have) strong feelings about the necessity of medical intervention in the birthing process, so it was with a great deal of dismay that I agreed with my midwife to schedule an induction to begin my labour. We made the decision on a Sunday morning, and planned to go in for the induction on Monday morning. Within hours of talking with my midwife, my contractions started, and my labour began naturally. I firmly believe that once I'd made the decision, I was able to relax into it enough to allow my body to do what it needed to do.
I think the same thing is happening with the ear plugs. Along with my mom's ridiculous cleaning gene, I've also inherited her extraordinary capacity for worry. I worry like a champ. I worry like a fish swims and a bird flies. I'm probably worried about you right now. I have even (and I wish I were kidding about this) worried about how much I worry. I spend a lot of my worry energy on my kids, and as much as they're the authors of my bad sleep, I suspect that my constant concern that they might need me has also played a part. Once I made the decision to put in the ear plugs and trust that they're probably not going to die in their sleep, my body seems to have been able to just do what it needs to, and it's amazing.
And I have hope that it's going to get even better - nobody takes their mom to college to help them sleep, right?
Sleep training (ie "ferberizing") didn't work with my daughter. We tried it on two consecutive nights, and both times, she cried until she threw up. The second night, I had to leave the house because I just couldn't bear to listen to her cry. It was awful, and I vowed that there had to be a better way, and refused to even entertain thoughts of trying it with my son. (If there is an effective way to help your kids learn to sleep through the night over a short period of time, I have yet to hear about it.)
I think now about the tactics I used to get Mischief to sleep and it makes me cringe a little, nauseous. I was so green at parenting, and didn't realize that it didn't need to be my way or the highway - that there could be a happy medium that didn't involve me putting a sobbing infant Mischief into my sling, zipping her under an enormous hoodie and then walking laps of the apartment until she stopped crying and fell asleep. That, as a toddler, my job shouldn't have been to make her sleep as much as it should have been to help her learn how to sleep.
So, you win some and you lose some. I imagine that my shift from too authoritarian (about sleep anyway) to too permissive arose from my guilt over how poorly I mismanaged Mischief's early sleep training, and so for years now, I've been the mom who gets up in the night every time the kids wake, climbing sleepily over the baby gate that closes off their room in the night and attending to every lost lovey, late-night thirst, midnight pee and bad dream.
(That's not to say that we haven't made other attempts at sleep training - before Trouble was born, I successfully weaned Mischief from being bounced to sleep on an exercise ball, and attempted with less success to teach her to fall asleep without one of us in her bed with her. We've tried a few times to encourage both kids to go back to sleep on their own after night wakings with mixed results, and have managed to transition our bed back to an adult bed from a family one.)
At 4.5, Mischief sleeps through the night 5 nights out of 7 now, and for that I am profoundly grateful, but Trouble is still up at least once per night, but usually more like 2 - 3 times. He always wants the same thing. "Climb into my bed with me, Mommy." Like a very sleepy chump, I always do.
Last week though, I splurged and bought myself some fluorescent orange squishy ear plugs. I've had a hard time using them - I've spent so long at the beck and call of the children that I feel guilty for intentionally making myself largely unavailable to them. I say largely because if Trouble stands at the baby gate and calls for me more than twice, I'll hear it. The few times I haven't heard it, DH has thrown a sharp elbow into my ribs (in his sleep no less) and I've gone in to settle Trouble back down.
This morning, Trouble woke (for the third time) around 4:30, and I heard it but was just too tired to get up right away. DH called out and told him to go back to sleep, and after calling for me four or five times and getting no response, he did just that! He climbed back into his bed and went back to sleep for another couple of hours. Hope springs eternal.
The amazing thing about the ear plugs is that when I have them in, I sleep more deeply than I have in years. I drop off to sleep, and don't know anything until I wake. It's so lovely. The Dawn Chorus (my avian nemesis!) no longer troubles me as I struggle to eke out just. one. more. hour, and when I stumble back to my room from Trouble's at 3:45, the sound of DH's gentle snores need no longer be cause for despair.
My pregnancy with Mischief went a full two weeks beyond my due date. It was my first pregnancy, and I had (and still have) strong feelings about the necessity of medical intervention in the birthing process, so it was with a great deal of dismay that I agreed with my midwife to schedule an induction to begin my labour. We made the decision on a Sunday morning, and planned to go in for the induction on Monday morning. Within hours of talking with my midwife, my contractions started, and my labour began naturally. I firmly believe that once I'd made the decision, I was able to relax into it enough to allow my body to do what it needed to do.
I think the same thing is happening with the ear plugs. Along with my mom's ridiculous cleaning gene, I've also inherited her extraordinary capacity for worry. I worry like a champ. I worry like a fish swims and a bird flies. I'm probably worried about you right now. I have even (and I wish I were kidding about this) worried about how much I worry. I spend a lot of my worry energy on my kids, and as much as they're the authors of my bad sleep, I suspect that my constant concern that they might need me has also played a part. Once I made the decision to put in the ear plugs and trust that they're probably not going to die in their sleep, my body seems to have been able to just do what it needs to, and it's amazing.
And I have hope that it's going to get even better - nobody takes their mom to college to help them sleep, right?
Monday, May 7, 2012
The high cost of saving
Like most one-income families, we do our best to economize where we can, and since I'm in charge of pretty much all of the household shopping, that boils down to cheaper cuts of meat, cheese mainly when it's on sale, and this week, off-brand pull-ups when I couldn't find any diapers in Trouble's size that were on sale.
(For the record, I CANNOT wait for this child to get over his discomfort at using the toilet. After four and a half years of being a mom, I've had my fill of other people's excreta, and might very well throw a party when Trouble finally toilet trains for real and I can throw away the toothbrush that I use for scrubbing escaped poops out of clothing.)
I had some concerns when I first tried the off-brand pull-ups - the elastic around the leg seemed awfully loose. They were what I had at hand though, and I wasn't about to let them go to waste, so we've been using them. My concerns about their structural stability didn't occur to me this morning when I saw Trouble assume his favoured pooping position (feet apart, knees slightly bent, hands braced on the entertainment stand, hilarious grimace on his face), or even when I noticed the ungainly bulge in the back of his pants (lumpy and slightly to the left). It wasn't until I started to change him that I realized that fully one third of what was in his pants wasn't in his pull-up. Not my ideal way to start the week.
So, lesson learned. The $3.00 I saved on the off-brand pull-ups was NOT worth the cost in human misery associated with scrubbing feces out of green fleece pants with a toothbrush at 7:30 on a Monday morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to buy some Pull-Ups® Training Pants.
(For the record, I CANNOT wait for this child to get over his discomfort at using the toilet. After four and a half years of being a mom, I've had my fill of other people's excreta, and might very well throw a party when Trouble finally toilet trains for real and I can throw away the toothbrush that I use for scrubbing escaped poops out of clothing.)
I had some concerns when I first tried the off-brand pull-ups - the elastic around the leg seemed awfully loose. They were what I had at hand though, and I wasn't about to let them go to waste, so we've been using them. My concerns about their structural stability didn't occur to me this morning when I saw Trouble assume his favoured pooping position (feet apart, knees slightly bent, hands braced on the entertainment stand, hilarious grimace on his face), or even when I noticed the ungainly bulge in the back of his pants (lumpy and slightly to the left). It wasn't until I started to change him that I realized that fully one third of what was in his pants wasn't in his pull-up. Not my ideal way to start the week.
So, lesson learned. The $3.00 I saved on the off-brand pull-ups was NOT worth the cost in human misery associated with scrubbing feces out of green fleece pants with a toothbrush at 7:30 on a Monday morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to buy some Pull-Ups® Training Pants.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Like rain on your wedding day
The irony is not lost on me that I've happily created and posted to a blog confessing to the world that I'm a "bad mommy", but when Mischief angrily turned to me this afternoon and called me "the worst mom in the whole world" (because, in insisting that she move away from the street side of the sidewalk, I'd made her miss a jump in her intricate "walking home" dance) it sent a knife directly through my heart.
Some days, there is just not enough chocolate in the world.
Some days, there is just not enough chocolate in the world.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
The Good Mom
Okay, so I know that I started this blog because I hated how fake it felt to post pics of our occasional awesome crafts or outings and make like I'm just that good all the time, but I think Jeni's right. Sometimes you've just gotta toot your own horn because baby, there aren't many other people out there who will.
On Sunday, as part of DH's birthday present, I took the kids to the zoo for the day. Eight hours at the zoo during mating season. Just envision that for a moment.
Anyway. While we were there, my 4-y-o daughter (let's call her Mischief) found a bent stick and proclaimed that it looked exactly like a giraffe's head, and she wasn't wrong. Now, I'm pretty sure I had sunstroke, and I hadn't had much sleep the night before - the boy, 2.5, code name Trouble, has his 2 year molars coming in and hasn't slept properly for weeks. So Mischief showed me her stick and in a fit of madness I offered to help her make it into a whole giraffe once we got home and had access to our craft supplies.
Here's my bad mom confession for this post; I say that kind of crap all the time and almost never actually do it. My intentions are good, but my memory and time management skills suck. Poor Mischief has been promised kite-making so many times, and the one time I actually got my act together enough to do it, we made them only to find that we had no string, and the kites were ruined before I managed to get some. (I still haven't found a store that sells kite string without a kite attached to it.) And I've promised Trouble that we'd play bubbles after nap so many times that he's finally taken it upon himself to break into the cupboard where the bubble solution lives and just do it without me.
But giraffe! This time I came through, and Mischief is so happy. I had her colour the toilet paper roll, and then hot-glued the rest of the pieces into place as per her instructions. She hasn't named him yet, but tomorrow is her show and tell day, and he'll be making the trip to JK in her backpack. I feel a little bit like a hot-glue hero.
On Sunday, as part of DH's birthday present, I took the kids to the zoo for the day. Eight hours at the zoo during mating season. Just envision that for a moment.
Anyway. While we were there, my 4-y-o daughter (let's call her Mischief) found a bent stick and proclaimed that it looked exactly like a giraffe's head, and she wasn't wrong. Now, I'm pretty sure I had sunstroke, and I hadn't had much sleep the night before - the boy, 2.5, code name Trouble, has his 2 year molars coming in and hasn't slept properly for weeks. So Mischief showed me her stick and in a fit of madness I offered to help her make it into a whole giraffe once we got home and had access to our craft supplies.
Here's my bad mom confession for this post; I say that kind of crap all the time and almost never actually do it. My intentions are good, but my memory and time management skills suck. Poor Mischief has been promised kite-making so many times, and the one time I actually got my act together enough to do it, we made them only to find that we had no string, and the kites were ruined before I managed to get some. (I still haven't found a store that sells kite string without a kite attached to it.) And I've promised Trouble that we'd play bubbles after nap so many times that he's finally taken it upon himself to break into the cupboard where the bubble solution lives and just do it without me.
But giraffe! This time I came through, and Mischief is so happy. I had her colour the toilet paper roll, and then hot-glued the rest of the pieces into place as per her instructions. She hasn't named him yet, but tomorrow is her show and tell day, and he'll be making the trip to JK in her backpack. I feel a little bit like a hot-glue hero.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Keep it secret, keep it safe
In a hushed and horrified whisper, my mom once related to me how her mother (my grandmother) used to buy chocolates and hide them from her children so she didn't have to share. I remember my mom being so indignant at the thought that Nan would keep something so delicious for herself, and at the time, my mind was so focused the incredible injustice of being denied chocolate that I'm sure I just made a disgusted "I can't believe she'd do that" noise and the conversation continued.
Now though, all these years and two children later, I've come to believe that my mother is a much much better person than I could ever be. I buy and hide food from my children all the time. (Let's be fair - I'm hiding it from the daddy too.) It's become my little ritual at the end of each day to sit down with a tasty snack - some popcorn or Cadbury mini eggs or a cookie, but there's no husbanding of delicious snacky resources once the rest of my family find out about them. On my own, I can make a bag of chocolate chip cookies last more than a week, but once everyone knows about them, they're gone within hours. (Sunday is my sleep-in day each week, and I couldn't figure out where the chocolate chip cookies were going until I got out of bed to pee early one Sunday morning and discovered all three of them eating the cookies for breakfast. And my husband accuses ME of being the permissive one. Ha.)
At the moment, my reserves are dangerously low. I have some caramels stashed in my closet, but my husband found the bag of mini eggs hidden above the stove, and they're long gone now. He left me six.
What about you? Do you squirrel away bits for yourself, or am I walking in my grandmother's greedy, selfish shoes?
Now though, all these years and two children later, I've come to believe that my mother is a much much better person than I could ever be. I buy and hide food from my children all the time. (Let's be fair - I'm hiding it from the daddy too.) It's become my little ritual at the end of each day to sit down with a tasty snack - some popcorn or Cadbury mini eggs or a cookie, but there's no husbanding of delicious snacky resources once the rest of my family find out about them. On my own, I can make a bag of chocolate chip cookies last more than a week, but once everyone knows about them, they're gone within hours. (Sunday is my sleep-in day each week, and I couldn't figure out where the chocolate chip cookies were going until I got out of bed to pee early one Sunday morning and discovered all three of them eating the cookies for breakfast. And my husband accuses ME of being the permissive one. Ha.)
At the moment, my reserves are dangerously low. I have some caramels stashed in my closet, but my husband found the bag of mini eggs hidden above the stove, and they're long gone now. He left me six.
What about you? Do you squirrel away bits for yourself, or am I walking in my grandmother's greedy, selfish shoes?
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Any port in a storm
Collectively, my family owns at least five hairbrushes. There's the big red one, the pink Dora the Explorer one, a cheap plastic one I bought to go to the gym, the nice wooden one I bought to replace the lost-and-subsequently-found aforementioned gym brush, etc. You get the idea. Not bad for a family where only two of us have hair longer than an inch.
So why is it that this afternoon, as I was racing around trying to change my son's poorly-timed dirty diaper and help my daughter find her other princess rubber boot to wear to school, I couldn't find a single one? We live in 600 square feet - there just shouldn't be that many places that one hairbrush - let alone five - can hide.
So, hairbrushes all missing, this is how I found myself at 12:10 pm this afternoon, gingerly brushing through my daughter's hair with the tiny pink brush that came with her new Dance Moves Barbie. I braided it for her today on the off-chance that the brushes are still missing tomorrow - at least it won't look like small mammals are nesting in it.
I like to think that the hairbrushes have snuck away with the television remote somewhere and are having a lovely time.
So why is it that this afternoon, as I was racing around trying to change my son's poorly-timed dirty diaper and help my daughter find her other princess rubber boot to wear to school, I couldn't find a single one? We live in 600 square feet - there just shouldn't be that many places that one hairbrush - let alone five - can hide.
So, hairbrushes all missing, this is how I found myself at 12:10 pm this afternoon, gingerly brushing through my daughter's hair with the tiny pink brush that came with her new Dance Moves Barbie. I braided it for her today on the off-chance that the brushes are still missing tomorrow - at least it won't look like small mammals are nesting in it.
I like to think that the hairbrushes have snuck away with the television remote somewhere and are having a lovely time.
Edited to add: Ha! It was as I suspected. The hairbrush and the remote WERE consorting. Perhaps there are tiny brush/remote hybrids in my future.
Edited AGAIN to add:
Later the same day. My remote is just not discriminating at all. Naughty.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Any Given Wednesday
This is what my living room looks like on any regular weekday afternoon, except normally the TV would be on, and there would be two tiny zombies drooling in its general direction from on or about the couch.
Because I've inherited my mom's particular brand of "can't show anyone a messy house" crazy, I spend hours and hours cleaning and tidying and decluttering before each and every playdate, but somehow, it always devolves back into this, despite all of my efforts to the contrary.
It could be worse though. It could look like my bedroom.
Because I've inherited my mom's particular brand of "can't show anyone a messy house" crazy, I spend hours and hours cleaning and tidying and decluttering before each and every playdate, but somehow, it always devolves back into this, despite all of my efforts to the contrary.
It could be worse though. It could look like my bedroom.
Opening up
I have never met a group of people so inclined to judge as mothers. Breastfeeding, co-sleeping, how creative your crafts are, what your child(ren) wear, what you feed them - all these things are grist for the mommy judgement mill, and the pressure to keep up appearances just seems overwhelming. Enter Bad Mommy, No Cookie.
I'm pretty good at being a mom - my kids are bright, healthy, relatively well-adjusted, and most of the time, have their pants on the right way around. And you know what? I let my kids watch TV. I feed them Kraft Dinner. I sometimes put them in the bath and forget that they're in there until I hear them gleefully pouring cupsful of water onto the bathroom floor. This blog is real life, not the pretty "aren't I crafty" view of parenting seen through the lens of Pinterest and facebook albums.
It is my hope that Bad Mommy, No Cookie will become a sprawling community project, but let's start with some baby steps.
I'm pretty good at being a mom - my kids are bright, healthy, relatively well-adjusted, and most of the time, have their pants on the right way around. And you know what? I let my kids watch TV. I feed them Kraft Dinner. I sometimes put them in the bath and forget that they're in there until I hear them gleefully pouring cupsful of water onto the bathroom floor. This blog is real life, not the pretty "aren't I crafty" view of parenting seen through the lens of Pinterest and facebook albums.
It is my hope that Bad Mommy, No Cookie will become a sprawling community project, but let's start with some baby steps.
Friday, April 13, 2012
"I ate my healthy thing first!"
At our house, we usually have two desserts after supper. The first is "healthy dessert" and is usually a piece of fruit or a yogurt tube. The second is "unhealthy dessert" and is almost always chocolate in some form.
Tonight, we've just finished having tacos for supper (and jello for dessert - we pretty much just skipped healthy dessert tonight) when my 4-year-old daughter wanders into the kitchen and picks up an extra taco shell.
"Mom, I'd like my unhealthy dessert now, but first I'm going to eat this!".
So I wash some of the dishes while they finish up eating, and I come out of the kitchen with the Kinder Eggs that are both unhealthy dessert tonight, and a bribe from last night that got the 2-y-o and the 4-y-o sleeping in their own bunk beds again. I hand the egg to my son and then lean over to hand my daughter hers, but she still has taco shell in her hand. I can see the grease glistening on her fingers where they hold the probably gmo-corn chip. She finishes the shell, picks up her egg, and proudly exclaims, "I ate my healthy thing first!".
At some point, we'll talk about why taco shells aren't actually healthy, but that night won't be tonight.
Tonight, we've just finished having tacos for supper (and jello for dessert - we pretty much just skipped healthy dessert tonight) when my 4-year-old daughter wanders into the kitchen and picks up an extra taco shell.
"Mom, I'd like my unhealthy dessert now, but first I'm going to eat this!".
So I wash some of the dishes while they finish up eating, and I come out of the kitchen with the Kinder Eggs that are both unhealthy dessert tonight, and a bribe from last night that got the 2-y-o and the 4-y-o sleeping in their own bunk beds again. I hand the egg to my son and then lean over to hand my daughter hers, but she still has taco shell in her hand. I can see the grease glistening on her fingers where they hold the probably gmo-corn chip. She finishes the shell, picks up her egg, and proudly exclaims, "I ate my healthy thing first!".
At some point, we'll talk about why taco shells aren't actually healthy, but that night won't be tonight.
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