Wet from a rainy run outside, Sweet Husband hands me a warm coffee as I look up from my blankets and laptop.
"Thanks. I got the grocery list done, but I need to go down and see what we have in the kitchen," I tell him.
"Mm, I think there's a lunk of pork in the freezer...and some linguine noodles."
"Yeah, we should use that up."
The grocery list is the second of three lists I need to complete, but I decide that the last one--nailing down our furniture budget for moving--can wait until later in the day, when we have time to sit down together and hammer out the math.
From the other room, I hear the Kid playing, making up voices for his action figures. "And here we have a war turtle....OK, everyone HOLD ON."
I've been worried about him this week. Not big, stop-everything-and-take-care-of-it worries, but the little niggling stuff that runs through your brain at 3 a.m. He kept complaining of a tummy ache all week, but I think it was because he was nervous about his school music program on Thursday.
I kept trying to draw him out to talk about it, but it's such a foreign experience for me that I was having trouble. "You know, mommy gets that feeling in her tummy every time I have to go to court, but sometimes it actually makes me do better. Sometimes you just have to ignore it and do what you have to do." He looked skeptical.
"I just don't feel full of love," he told me, at another point. We remedied that with a bear hug and an extra story, but it made my heart twinge. He's getting the short end of the stick re: moving--changing schools, again--and he isn't saying much about it, but I wonder what's happening in his head. Little Miss "I'm Three and Fierce" is definitely the squeaky wheel right now, and it makes me worry that he's not actually getting enough attention.
"Can I tell you about a Pokemon I want?" he interupts my thoughts, running in and jumping on the bed with me amidst my notebook and laptop and phone. "His name is War Turtle. He has cannons on his arms, and he also has a big crest that comes up like this!" His hands fly up like antennae.
"Did you remember to put your tooth under your pillow last night?" I ask. Knowing that he forgot, but also that he was counting on some tooth fairy cash to fund his Pokemon acquisition.
"No, but I'm going to remember tonight!" he exclaims as he runs back to his toys.
I add "Tooth Fairy" to one of my lists, and wonder about the silence downstairs from Little Miss. While she's not making much noise, I can hear the reassuring superhero voices of "PJ Masks" coming from the TV. With the invention of on-demand shows, there's little need to have a designated "Saturday morning cartoon time" anymore, but it's a tradition I'm glad we've discovered, nonetheless.
I look at the clock and debate whether we're going to make it to her Saturday morning gymnastics class. I feel guilty paying for it and not going, and it's also such a good time for her to run off some energy. But we need to go to the grocery store, too. I want a lazy Saturday, and the thought of doing both seems decidedly the opposite. "Eh, if we make it, we make it," I decide, "If not, oh well." That basically means we won't--getting two kids and myself dressed and anywhere on time requires much more intention than that--but leaving myself open to the possibility makes me feel better.
Little Miss has been a piece of work lately, and I do worry that we definitely don't monitor her cartoons as carefully as we did with the Kid when he was three. Regardless of the underlying cause, though, her feelings are loud and rarely subject to interpretation, which can be refreshing.
It's such a fine line between raising a woman who knows how to ask for what she wants and raising a brat, but--despite the day-to-day difficulties--I currently have no urge to squelch her. In fact, most of the time I wish I was more like her. I mean, I'm not planning to have a public tantrum about that weird nub on my left sock anytime soon, but I'd like to bottle up that passion and use it to ask for other things in my life.
And then my phone buzzes with an email I really need to answer. I hear the "PJ Masks" end credits song start to play, as I swallow the last bit of my coffee. I still need to go downstairs and do a quick look through the pantry before we go to the store, and the kids are undoubtedly getting hungry. I could probably stay here, in my cozy nest with my thoughts and lists, a few minutes longer, but it seems like it's probably time to start the day.