A recap of what happened around here last week:
I had a hard time narrowing down my list of baby must haves to only ten. I considered telling my mother I would have another baby if she bought me a Phil and Ted stroller.
The Doctor and I went on a date. To a grown-up restaurant with no crayons at the table. Nothing spilled, and there was only one trip to the bathroom. It was by far the best hour and a half of my week. We rarely spend time together without the kids, unless you count me on the couch, him in his recliner, both watching TV and staring at our phones. It reminded me that time away from the kids is important, and it’s fun.
To celebrate The Doctor’s birthday, I posted a Britely highlighting things the kids could teach him. Cuz I like to make fun of people on their special day. Apparently.
After battling with Lily to the point of exhaustion over her wardrobe, I threw in the towel and made the decision to allow her to dress herself. I expected some hilarious pictures of ridiculous outfits, but she disappointed me by matching. Mostly.
I dug up some scary memories and shared an experience from this last summer when Graham went missing. Thinking about it still ties my stomach in knots.
A girl in Graham’s class didn’t like that he pronounced the “L” in her name as a “W.” He practiced and practiced, and can now properly pronounce the letter “L.” The first of many times he’ll be motivated to better himself to avoid being nagged by a girl.
I chaperoned Graham’s first field trip. It was 150 kids, kindergarten through fifth graders, at a state park. I supervised a group of five kids (including my boy) of various ages, and we completed a scavenger hunt. I loved it. The kids were thoughtful and inquisitive, and I came home telling The Doctor maybe I wanted to be a teacher. He reasonably and realistically pointed out that one hour with five kids at the park may not be the best situation to decide on a career in education.
I launched Operation Smoking Hot Body, recommitting to healthy eating habits and exercising. I started on Wednesday, and Friday night I ate my weight in lasagna. It’s fine, as Friday is historically my free day. By that I mean, “Feel free to eat and drink about three times your daily caloric allowance.” Shit just got real, though. I accidentally put my skinny jeans in the dryer, and if that’s not motivation to get my ass in gear, I don’t know what is.