Rainy Weekend

S. spent the weekend working on a cabin my dad is building, and I spent the weekend alone with two three-year-old shut-ins in record storm conditions.  The only thing between me and a nervous breakdown were the Max & Ruby DVD's Liv picked out for herself at Target using St. Patrick's Day money from her grandmas.  (If you haven't yet experienced the gentle Max & Ruby, get on it!  Not shrill, not sophisticated, they are a balm to Dora-jangled nerves and Elmo-splintered souls.)

Over the course of the weekend, I hit a couple of parenting lows, including a tantrum unto vomiting (Liv) and threats to revoke playdates with Grandma (Me.  I know, how low can you get, right?)  But I'm proud to say I also managed to hit a parenting high.

I was reading a great book called Real Kids, Real Faith: Practices for Nurturing Children's Spiritual Lives  that suggested I ask my children what they thought were the most important things to me.  I just knew they were going to say "Getting to work on time" or "Tidying up" or maybe something really embarrassing like "Putting on your makeup" or "Wine."  But I couldn't shake the urging to ask them anyway.

I asked Cody stealthily when he couldn't fall asleep at naptime.  We hid under my covers.  His little feet pummeled my thigh, because he gets so excited when he talks that he pistons his legs.  He answered, "Me an' Liv.  And brushing our teeth."

I sneaked up on Liv Sunday night after storytime.  "Us," she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

By grace alone, I am doing something right.