valentine weekend

Alone with the kids. I woke up this morning with Leif singing to me quietly and Gavin crumpled in a tangle of scrawny boy-limbs on the other side of the bed. We slid across the floors in our jammies and socks and welcomed in our last day of the long weekend. Leif rode in his sling and watched me make fresh bread in the morning, and when he dozed off I slipped him in bed and rummaged through my stash for yarn to knit something special for our two new nephews-to-be. These days of babies and bread and home are numbered, but just think: they're here now, we get to enjoy them all day.

It's been a nice weekend. Leif has started babbling and singing - and sometimes he can actually match my bedtime tunes, and then yells "DADADADA!" when he's lost his patience with me. My kid. Genius.

 
Minimal V-day sadness, minimal "WHY DIDN'T HE LOVE ME"s, minimal chocolate. There was only one bad part to the weekend.

We swung by the gallery to admire some artwork, and threw pebbles in the koi pond for a while yesterday afternoon. Gavin decided he needed to see how long he could stay before I would force the issue, so he ignored me when I said it was time to go, said "Just a moment" when I repeated myself, and ignored me again when I walked away and said I was leaving. I waited behind the bushes for a bit and stomped back when he refused to follow. The typical mom-kid argument ensued:

"Do you WANT me to yell at you every time we need to go somewhere? Get OVER here!"
He dragged his feet, "I SAID I'd come in a moment."
"I GAVE you a moment, I asked you three times, you wouldn't come until I yelled and that makes me very frustrated and unhappy!"
"Me too!"
"Well why didn't you just listen the first time?!"
"I don't know!"
We grumped to the car, I buckled in the baby (who happily chewed on his teether), and got Gavin in the car. As I started up the engine, I asked, "Buckled up?" "Yep," he said. I looked back to double-check as I started backing up, and saw his hand clamped over his belt, holding it in place so it looked like it was buckled in. I hit the brakes.
"You're not buckled up!"
"I know."
"Why did you lie to me? You could die! If I started driving and we got hit and you died, I would feel terrible for the rest of my life because I didn't make sure your were buckled up! Why would you do that?!"
He buckled, then suddenly looked stricken, welled up, and started sobbing, looking away to hide his face.
"Oh, baby, it's ok, you're buckled up now, talk to me. "
"I don't want you to feel terrible for the rest of your life!" he creaked. My heart wrenched, and I reached back and held his hand. God, I don't want to be the mom who freaks my kid out with guilt. I don't want him to lie about seat belts or other serious safety things, either, though. We calmed down, we said we loved each other, and we drove home for a cold drink and a snack. It's a hard gig sometimes, I love this kid.

The good thing about parenting is that you only really screw up if you screw up every day; each morning you get another chance to do things right.

infinite cupcake remorse

After watching Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist the other day, I picked out the book from our YA stacks and tore through it overnight, coming away slightly wounded. While the book was a pretty good read, I think this is the rare instance where the movie rather outshines it. This librarian recommends watching the movie and then reading the book. But for sure, do both. Especially if you've ever found yourself in a stranger's car at 3am in a big city, or made fun of Hoboken. But I will save you some trouble now with this warning: if you are reading the book at work and don't know who Johnny Castle is, don't google it. Especially don't image google it.

But now I'm torn between feeling nostalgic over our romps through New York as college kids, and feeling ripped off because I really thought we had something unique and young and glorious. That the boy at the end of my arm loved me innocently and completely. And I don't know when I'll be running through the city hand-in-hand again, unless I'm holding on to a couple of kids and trying to find a toilet. It could happen, I guess.

And this is what happens around V-Day. Heading down to the cakeshop of love, where everyone goes to press their noses against the glass and look at all the cupcakes with longing, regret, nostalgia, guilt, and anger. Stupid cupcakes.