Football Saturday “drinking buddies” may look quite different than when we held season tickets to the Big House’s student section, but the fact remains: it’s great to be a Michigan Wolverine.
Related: when I take a picture of my husband that he didn’t ask for… // but truly, not so big into the SPORTS scene over here.
thankful for my crew
and not just because they too
don’t care for turkey.
Related: it’s a step up from last year’s frozen pizza? // (more) fancy like
celebrating five
solar revolutions with
revolving sushi.
Every other Friday, our home is visited by a magical person.
She is kind.
She brings her own vacuum.
She is non-judgmental, and even when I try to apologize for the state of [insert messiest room du jour here], she just smiles, “you have 4 boys!”
She is Ms. Laurie. She cleans our house, and we appreciate her work enormously for the 5 hours before the boys return home and effectively negate her efforts.
But before every other Friday, there is every other Thursday, when we get serious with the boys about their (theoretically nightly) pickup duties. Tonight was no exception.
How Sisyphean is this task, you wonder? Well, I’ll show you.
First, there is this: our eldest two — our supposedly most independent and helpful two — spontaneously hanging upside-down from the couch, only half dressed but of course wearing superhero masks, instead of picking up the (disastrous) living room as instructed 15 minutes prior.
Next, one of many handfuls of tchotchkes I retrieved from their bedrooms. The motivation [read: threat] is often “if you don’t pick it up, Mom gets to throw it away,” and the items like these — trinkets from Boo baskets, or party favors, or wherever else… are often abandoned and therefore go the way of Friday’s garbage pickup.
Finally, this. Just when you think the rooms are “good enough,” and you divert your attention to getting boys in pajamas or putting the baby down… a certain 3-year-old rips open a brand new bag of cereal and successfully uses it as a construction “dig site.”
But I’m telling you, those 5 truly clean hours on every other Friday… magic.
Related: a brilliant hack to *keep* your bathrooms clean for company // plus Sunday “get stuff done” day.
I snapped this image of J Sunday morning as he got ready to attend a friend’s birthday party. He had dressed himself to his taste and was combing his hair into a bona fide style.
Shortly after I took this, he groaned in exasperation. He couldn’t get his hair to cooperate in achieving his vision. I intervened, fixed his comically askew part, and the style took care of itself.
Not long ago, he couldn’t see over the counter to the mirror at all. And at some point, perhaps in the not too distant future, checking his reflection will become an important part of his daily routine.
I am watching my son seemingly right in the in-between. He has a preferred hairstyle, but wouldn’t have taken the time to comb his hair at all had I not suggested it as a method to mask how delinquent I have been giving him a trim. He dresses himself in the morning and has favorite pants or sweaters he will always choose if they are clean, but those favorites are almost exclusively based on softness of the fabric. He has lost his front teeth and wears that charming gap so well, but I know when his permanent teeth come in, their feature alone will make him appear significantly older. He has this lovely little social life and goes from party to party on the weekends, but the parties are mock science labs, or Lego-themed, or take place at arcades where he can only just barely reach the pedal of the race car games.
What a sweet phase, this in-between.
Related: a glimpse into the fashion sense of my sons // Going on seven.
no need for stuffies
or security blankets
when you’ve got your truck.
- I can’t unsee this.
- Or this. …gulp.
- *mind blown emoji*
- Whatever happens with Twitter, I hope Lake Superior’s account remains intact. “Without me, they would be called the Good Lakes.”
