This weekend was about getting better. About sleeping late, staying in fleece footie pajamas all day, and pulling every book from Cruz's shelf. It was about vapor baths in the morning, naps in the afternoon, and take-out for dinner. It was about rejuvenating our bodies, our minds, and our souls, and attempting to 'get all better' before another work week came flooding into our lives on Monday. The three of us needed the weekend so much. We needed to refuel and recharge.
I'll admit, I held it together pretty well for the first three weeks back to work. I was able to scoot out the door as soon as the desks in my classroom were straightened, and my lesson plans were printed for the following day. I had some dinners planned in advance, a clean house, and even had work outfits planned and hanging in my closet. I can do this, became my everyday battle cry and it even crossed my mind a time or two that the juggling act was actually better and easier than I expected.
And then we got sick. Nights were spent on the couch, cradling a stuffy-nosed baby, and nursing a sore throat with lots of Vitamin C. While dirty laundry, blankets, and ungraded papers began to accumulate before my eyes, our spirits (and DVR listings) dwindled. I was bummed most of the week and desperately wished to trade in my boogie wipes and nasal aspirator for stroller rides and sunshine. I felt myself sliding into a funk and wished for May instead of February.
The truth is, I now belong to this club. The Mom Club. In this club, we try our very best to do it all. We want the pristine home, straight out of Pottery Barn magazine, with perfectly stacked pillows on the couch, and four glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade, complete with slices of lemon, sitting on a coffee table beside a crisp newspaper. We want the early mornings of a bottomless cup of coffee and a jog, ample time for pampering and pedicuring, and a perfect hairdo and outfit as we head out the door and hop into our sparkly clean SUV. We attempt to work all day, cook dinner every night, then unpack and re-pack lunches and school bags, throw in a load of laundry, grab the mail, give the baby a bath, play, clean, sort, and survive, all while trying to maintain the relationship that started it all.
The truth is, no one does it like they do on TV. It's the times when I'm trying with all I am to become the next Martha, I realize there's not a lot of fun in perfection. I sit here with this baby of mine, sound asleep on my chest, amidst piles of pillows, blankets, and baby toys. It feels good tonight. Lived in. Real. Nothing really matters but the moment that is right in front of us. And right now, this little Vicks baby with the rumbly throat and rosy cheeks is my idea of perfect.
So, as the snow storm of the century begins outside, I am thankful. Thankful for what's done and undone, thankful for the times I feel together, and the times I fall apart. Thankful for the end of a baby's first cold, and the start of a new month. A month with a whole lotta love.
February's here. Love is in the air!
My stuffy-nosed baby boy...
I used to say I would never let my children run around with snotty, crusty noses. Live and learn...
Cruz has been in amazingly good spirits! He sure is a happy little boy.