52 posts tagged “parenting”
Feeling some better. Didn't break out in hives at Littlest Brother's swimming lesson today, so that weird skin-sensitivity thing seems to have gone away. Pretty much just dealing with stuffed-up head and a cough, which seem to be minutely better from one day to the next, so not really impacting my life any.
L.B. got the stomach-fever-gas thing, but he's better now too, and nobody else got that. Yay.
Eldest Son's Recent Accomplishments:
(Just to show you it's not all challenge and no reward...)
- Piano Recital a week and a day ago (the day of the night I got sick, so didn't blog about it)
- Had a piece of artwork chosen for the all-school-district art show that was held this past weekend over at the High School. (He had a piece chosen last year during kindergarten, too. There are things chosen from maybe 5 or so kids in each classroom at the elementary grades.) We all piled into the car and went to see that on Friday night, which was a big hit. Big Daddy got a cute Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man in front of his work, which I will post one of these days once I get the camera downloaded. The kids all really dug the quite-impressive works of the high-school art students, too.
- Is doing well at swimming lessons. Learning to dive into the deep end! "12 feet 3 inches deep," as he explained with precision later.
- Provided this completely adorable Mother's Day book which had me yelping in laughter as I read it. This book was where the children were provided with fill-in-the-blank sentences which they could complete as appropriate for their own mother, plus space where they could illustrate said fact.
My personal favorite was the page where Eldest Son had written,
My mother is very good at staying calm."
The little stick-figure-me above was smiling, and a speak-bubble impaling her head contained these enigmatic glyphs: "Huuuu. Huuuu."
"What am I saying here, honey?"
"Oh, that. You're taking deep breaths."
*giggle*
Well, I guess I OUGHTA be; goodness knows I get enough opportunities to practice!!!
;-)
Happy Belated Mother's Day to everyone to whom that applies!
What they hey, all KINDS of other Voxers are doing "Things on Tuesday," so I guess I will too.
Things I'm Loathing Today:
- Having eaten chocolates after lunch
- Having failed, ONCE AGAIN, to tidy up the house before my cleaning lady comes tomorrow (She does the cleaning -- vacuuming, mopping, and so on; I'm supposed to do the tidying that makes it possible for her to do her work...)
- Watching my poor little tykes get their shots at their check-ups today
- Having to communicate the decision I've come to -- can't really put it off much longer
- Water waste, agricultural run-off, invasive species, and loss of biodiversity (hey, it's Earth Day after all)
Things I'm Loving Today:
- Eldest Son, Precious Princess, and Littlest Brother
- Oh, Dear Husband too! :-)
- Having come to a decision
- Having tested a hypothesis regarding Eldest Son's behavioral "issues" (and deciding I was RIGHT)
- Feeling not judged, but supported, by Eldest Son's teacher and school social worker at today's meeting
- Looking forward to tomorrow's first meeting with the psychologist -- in the sense of at last maybe here is someone who can help us all (hoping this is not setting myself up for a big crashing disappointment like last year's counselor was)
- Learning that my little tykes are about as healthy as horses -- no worries there; no surprises either
- Having access to vaccinations for my kids
- Watching Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" with Precious Princess for the first time, this afternoon (I'd seen it before, when it first came out; she hadn't ever, before today)
- Aerobics Boot Camp
- Sloppy Joes for dinner
- Dear Husband taking the kids out for ice cream, so I got to eat my dinner AND take a shower in peace! Heaven!
- Looking forward to this weekend's Women's Retreat for my church.
*****
Cheers, all!
- C
I adore the music of Sara Groves.
I don't generally care much for Christian rock -- I hear so much more divinity in traditional choral music -- but I can never get enough of Sara Groves. Her music is richly haunting, and her lyrics deceptively simple, many-layered. She so richly expresses things I need to hear; and almost every song of hers makes me think. Hard.
Tuesday afternoon I was thinking of this song from her "All Right Here" album:
"You Cannot Lose My Love"
You will lose your baby teeth
At times you'll lose your faith in me
You will lose a lot of things
But you cannot lose my love
You may lose your appetite
Your guiding sense of wrong and right
You may lose your will to fight
But you cannot lose my love
You will lose your confidence
In times of trial your common sense
You may lose your innocence
But you cannot lose my love
Many things can be misplaced
Your very memories be erased
No matter what the time or space
You cannot lose my love
You cannot lose
You cannot lose
You cannot lose my love
***
That last stanza made me cry the first time I heard it. My husband's grandmother had died not long before, after a long period of progressively worsening dementia. My own grandfather was dying, and following a similar course. It was very hard for me to watch the diminishment of these beloved people, especially as my own small children were doing the exact opposite. Every day my son became a tiny bit more capable, and every day my grandfather became a tiny bit less.
Dementia is sort of horrifying and terrifying to witness. After all, what am I -- the "I" that thinks these things -- if not a being capable of rational thought? What am I if not my own unique collection of memories and experiences? And if those memories disappear, if my intellect disappears, what will be left of me? I know dementia is not catching, and yet, I have always found it extremely disquieting, if only because it is a reminder of our own fragility and impermanence.
Then I heard this song.
When it came to the part about how, "Your very memories be erased, but you cannot lose my love" this expressed so strongly to me how the essential person-hood -- the soul -- of my grandfather was separate from his intellect and his rapidly vanishing memories, and how there was still something precious there. Something God loved. Something I could love. And I cried, hearing it; but it was a good kind of cry.
In a smaller way, at various times, I have lost many of the other things mentioned in this song -- lost and in some cases, regained. So I find this song comforting, as a reminder of the one thing, of all things, that I cannot lose.
***
Tuesday afternoon this song came to me in a new way.
(This was why that vote of confidence from Precious Princess later in the evening was doubly precious.)
Had a difficult phone call from Eldest Son's principal. Heart sinking, feeling defeated, not knowing what to do or how to approach the kid, how to solve this particular problem and how to steer him away from repeating it.
Unlike me, I prayed. I do not have a strong instinct to pray -- wasn't raised with it -- and it is not usually my first reaction when things get tough. But this time, rather than let my mind race about like a frantic hamster on a wheel, getting nowhere except exhausted, I decided to pray.
Song lyrics came into my head, together with their melodies.
First came, "Love one another, love one another, love one another... as I have loved you."
Then came the song above, the Sara Groves song.
This time I knew that it was not only a comforting reminder to me, but a directive as well.
I had to find a way to reach my son, to impress upon him the seriousness of the incident, to help him think of a way to make amends, to help him decide for himself that it was wrong and he shouldn't do it again, help him take ownership of his misbehavior... and yet, and yet, avoid making him feel bereft of my love.
Make him feel that no matter what else he loses -- in this case, his temper and his impulse control -- he cannot lose my love.
Ranting and raving was going to do more harm than good.
He's a stubborn mule, that kid; the harder you pull, the harder he digs in his heels.
I needed to not give him a reason to dig in his heels on this.
I think I managed it. By the time everyone went to bed, I was pretty sure he had taken ownership of the problem, taken it seriously, taken a step toward making amends... and still believed I loved him.
No matter what the time or space, he cannot lose my love.
Yesterday evening -- Littlest Brother, just waking up from a nap, woke up cranky and couldn't stop crying. Sometimes he wakes up hard and there's nothing really wrong with him, you just have to wait for him to stop crying -- it can be a long wait at times.
I came back from aerobics and was trying to eat my dinner. He was sitting at the table beside me and chewing his dinner and crying.
Precious Princess came up and hugged him and tried to make him happier. Didn't work, but she tried.
I said, "Thanks for trying, hon. You're such a good big sister!"
She said, "Yeah, I am. -- I'm your sidekick."
I laughed. "Yeah, you are my sidekick -- a good one!"
She said, "So I'm your sidekick, and you're SuperMom!"
:-)
Nice to get a vote of confidence, and I needed one yesterday.
- B.J., a little boy answering his mother's question of "How was Sunday Celebration today, hon?" after Dear Husband and I were in charge of said event.
Newsflash -- Boys And Girls Are Different.
No, really -- it's true.
I gained this blinding insight on Sunday during a fun volunteering opportunity.
See, in addition to regular Sunday School for the kids (between services), our church also offers "Sunday Celebration" for kids age 4 through 2nd Grade, during Big People Church. That way they only have to sit through maybe 10 or 15 minutes of Big People Church and then they are dismissed to go have a Bible story and craft time downstairs.
Our Director of Children's Ministries (wonderful woman, by the way) decided earlier this year that Sunday Cel during 2nd Service was getting crowded, and that the parents of kids who regularly attended during 2nd service would need to step up and help out. Fair enough. So along with the other parents, Big Daddy (aka Dear Husband) and I were "volunteered" for duty; our tour was this past Sunday.
Now, in 2nd Service Sunday Cel, mind you, the kids have been required to more-or-less sit still and behave and go along with the program already for a solid hour of Sunday School, and then 15 minutes of Big People Church, and now are expected to do more of the same.
Guess what? -- Doesn't work out so well.
It was like trying to tame a cage-full of hyperactive squirrels who'd gotten into the coffee.
Of course, our own Eldest Son is among the worst offenders, but running a close second are the sons of the Senior Pastor (P.K.'s if there ever were any -- with a vengeance!).
Before Big Daddy began reading the story (he was the one who had prepared), I tried to get them to jump out their jiggles with a sort of follow-my-lead stand-up-and-move time. We pretended to be trees blowing in the wind, frogs hopping, bugs crawling, and finally a seed growing into a flower. I thought the last one would be a nice quiet-down transition sort of activity.
Still pretty squirrelly. Had to haul Eldest Son out of the room into the hall until he could promise to behave. Meanwhile the Senior Pastor's middle kid and little B.J. were egging each other on. I schlepped back into the room and separated them.
FINALLY the story was over, and it was time for the crafts.
It was a little spinner where you flicked a paper-clip, and it would land on one of several possible ways to show kindness toward others. The kids were supposed to color in the pictures, then line up for Big Daddy to complete the brad-and-paper-clip construction.
The girls (including Precious Princess) all colored diligently, trying their best to stay within the lines. One little girl was anxious about making the little picture people's skin colors accurate, and finally achieved this by coloring a mixture of tan, yellow, and pink. The little picture of an African-American person got a nice brown shade.
The boys, meanwhile, decided to draw tornadoes. They all randomly grabbed pencils, crayons, markers, and scribbled furious circles all over their papers. No attempt whatsoever to color the little pictures. Then they decided to see if the circular papers would fly like frisbees.
I stood up and went, "CLAP, CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!"
Eldest Son's Kindergarten and First Grade teachers do this all the time to get the kids' attention; the children are required to stop what they are doing and clap the rhythm back, then be quiet and listen to what the teacher wants to say. I hoped this practice was widespread enough that they would be conditioned to the required response by now -- not all the kids in our church are in the same school system as Eldest Son.
I had to do it twice, but they did respond and quiet down for half a sec. A Sunday miracle.
I announced in a loud stern voice, "Any spinners that I see thrown will become MINE, until your parents come to get you."
After that, the frisbee-throwing was kept to a minimum, although I did have to confiscate two of them.
STILL squirrelly.
The boys -- all of them -- had leaped up from the coloring tables by this point and were variously shouting, jumping, and wrassling each other on the floor. Eldest Son began grabbing foam bricks off the shelf and throwing them at the wrestlers. The girls -- all of them -- were still coloring diligently.
I could see we needed more movement time, and in a structured way. So I CLAP, CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAPped again and announced in my Big Stern Voice, "We are going to play Follow-The-Leader! Anyone who doesn't want to play, needs to SIT STILL! I will be the first leader, then you'll take turns. Line up behind me!"
They more or less did, giggling and pushing. Another Sunday miracle.
We went all around the room, being birds with flapping wings, airplanes with stiff wings, a high-stepping marching band, a chugga-chugga-choo-choo, leaping kangaroos, and big-stepping giants.
Then the kids clamored to be the leader. I closed my eyes and pointed randomly. The boy so chosen stood still long enough for the other boys to line up behind him, then announced that for HIS first leadership role, they would be race cars. ZOOM!
ANNND They're OFF!
Running around in circles as fast as they could. Giggling.
Eldest Son demanded a turn as leader. He TOO announced they would be race cars.
ZOOM!
Then Eldest Son decided to start being Chick Hicks and crashing into other cars, whereupon I announced in my Big Stern Voice that "Anybody being Chick Hicks will get a time out!" Nobody wanted to be Chick Hicks any more.
So at that point, Big Daddy went and stood in the middle of the circle of racing boys. And grinned.
Whenever they looked like stopping, Big Daddy would say, "Hey, you're not tired yet, are you? Keep going!"
They kept it up for a solid 35 minutes -- service went long.
It would have been the perfect day to take them out onto our beloved play structure, but it is still snowy here and they were all in their dress-up clothes (sniff!). Summer, summer, where art thou???
Every once in a while, a girl would get up and join them for a bit (usually Precious Princess -- she's used to boys, after all -- and sometimes L.K. and sometimes J.K.), but then sit down again after a while. The girls seemed to think of new finishing touches they could add to their artwork, and they'd go back to coloring.
For the most part, it was the boys doing the ZOOMing and the girls doing the coloring.
And THAT's when I realized that Boys And Girls Really Are Different.
Thus B.J.'s remark to his mother afterward. "We ran around in circles as fast as we could! It was GREAT!"
Not sure that was what the Director of Children's Ministries had intended for Sunday Cel. But it was what they needed.
Thus spake Littlest Brother the other day.
"No, I'm NOT cute! I don't wanna be cute!"
"Oh, well, what are you, then?"
"I wanna be pwecious."
And speaking of Eldest Son (see previous post), as a matter of fact, that challenging morning was an exception to recent trends.
We did have that challenging morning last week, but on the whole, we've been seeing improvement in his behavior and attitude of late.
Here's what crystallized my awareness of that.
Back in December, I had a little chat with one of his specials teachers, who had been having "issues" with him. So then I had a little chat with him, about expectations of behavior toward this and all teachers. So then earlier this week I called her up, just to see how things were going. And this is what she said.
"The last couple of weeks have been really great. I didn't see any improvement right away after we talked before, but the past few weeks he's been doing fine."
That's when I realized that had been pretty much true at home too. So I hung up the phone and began wracking my brains to figure out what the heck had changed within the past two or three weeks that would account for this improvement.
And what I figured out really made me feel humbled as a mother (and as a person generally).
Here's what changed three weeks ago:
I did.
It's Lent, and for Lent I've given up: Coffee, booze, sweets, and novels. Also I've been doing better about getting regular exercise, even though that wasn't a specific Lent promise.
Coffee, booze, and novels = A+. Have not indulged. Now I haven't done quite as well at sweets as I have at the others. But I have been doing much better on sweets than I was before Lent. I haven't eaten any cake or cookies or pie or anything like that. I have been eating Valentines Nerds here and there, but really they come in such tiny boxes and suger per se, by itself, is not so bad calorie-wise, than if it were combined with flour and egg and butter.
So.
Because I know I can't rely on coffee to get me jumpstarted in the morning, guess what? I've been going to bed earlier, and getting between 7 and 8 hours of sleep every night. And I also haven't had any headaches during this time.
Because I'm not sucking down novels in two- and three-hundred-page gulps, that has helped me get more of my own writing (and editing) done and has also helped me on the going-to-bed-on-time front.
Because I'm not sucking down sugar (much), I'm not getting the sugar-high/sugar-crash effect on my mood and energy.
Because I'm getting more exercise, that's also levelling out my mood and energy.
Since I normally don't drink wine until the kids have gone to bed, and normally not more than two glasses at one sitting, I'm not sure what impact that absence may have had, except as the byproducts of alcohol metabolism remain in your system for a day or two doing I don't even know what to my mood.
So.
I mostly did this for my own benefit -- for the hoped-for spiritual benefit of sacrificing things I enjoy during Lent, and incidentally, doing a sort of mini-detox for physical benefit as well. (Inspired by One Feisty Mama's detox efforts pre-Christmas.)
I did not expect and had not noticed any difference in my own behavior due to these efforts.
But there must have been some.
This is my logic chain: More sleep + More exercise ==> More patience ==> Less control-freakery and yelling on my part ==> Saner Eldest Son.
Because nothing else has changed.
It's still snowy & cold & often grey. He still doesn't get outside as often as he should to run off his energy, as a result. He still goes to the same school. Everything else is the same.
Welp, humble pie is not sweet, so I guess that's okay for Lent.
No, I'm not totally guilt-tripping here and it's not my Seasonal Affective Disorder talking. It's just making me think.
About what I should do when Lent is over.
I just submitted two different short pieces to two different publications.
I'm feeling a little insecure at the moment.
I'm craving feedback on some other pieces but I think I've tapped out my inner circle of early readers for the moment -- after all, they all have lives too. Kids, jobs, snow to shovel, ponies (more shoveling), their own writing, you name it -- they have lives. They've given much to me lately, for which I am grateful -- let's make that perfectly clear.
I'm fearing that because they don't sit by their computers just begging for an email with another one of my stories attached, and drop everything and read it RIGHT THAT MINUTE and turn around and send me useful crit within twenty-four hours (*making fun of self here, let's just be clear*)... that that must mean my stories are actually crap and there's no hope for getting better and I should just give up now and keep my day job. Oh wait, I don't HAVE a day job; or rather, I never gave up my unpaid all-day-and-all-night job. Or maybe I should just go out and GET another day job.
Blah.
Feeling Needy.
Ohhhh, just wait until I get the rejections back, if you want to see needy!
Blah.
Just last week I had a very challenging morning with Eldest Son, and had a bad-vibe-hangover the whole rest of the day, which wasn't fair to the other little urchins, whose fault it wasn't. I normally read to soothe myself but they weren't letting me get away with it that morning. Eventually one went down for a nap and the other was watching a video (value-added mommery, here!) and I curled up in the sunbeam in the front room and started gulping down my favorite genre from my latest issue of Asimov's magazine.
But instead of feeling better, I saw an ad for a 5-week writer's workshop to be held in June in New Hampshire, and I was just consumed, absolutely consumed with envy and despair.
I know that what I really need is a short intense period of focusing ONLY on my writing (instead of 1 and 2 hours at a time), WITH (and this is key) focused, frequent feedback. Which is EXACTLY what those writing workshop participants will be getting. EXACTLY.
And that is so not even remotely possible for me to even consider at this point or for the foreseeable future, that I was just gnashing my teeth and pulling at my hair in despair.
Go live in New Hampshire for 5 weeks this summer?? -- Yeah, RIGHT.
Pay actual money for room and board and tuition for my writing?? -- Yeah, RIGHT.
Go from a non-wage-earner to an actual expense-incurrer, while expecting my working husband to manage single-daddery for 5 weeks? And who exactly would be watching the little urchins while he was working -- during the summer, when Eldest Son will be out of school, doubling the challenge???
And how could I leave the urchins for 5 weeks, when after I've snatched a break for myself of 3 hours out of the house, my tiniest tot greets my return with such delight and a shout of, "Mommy! You came back!" How d'you think he would do if I suddenly disappeared for 5 weeks? And how about the other two? When I went to the con last fall and was essentially unavailable for mommy-love for most of Friday evening, Saturday, and Sunday, I paid for it with a week of grumpiness from the older two. They're more subtle now -- they don't try to keep me from leaving like Littlest Brother does, and they cannot specify the source of their grumpiness later -- but it's there. They still need me, though they're less likely to admit it.
I thought I could do both. Why can't I do both? Be there for them, AND recreate myself?
Blah.
Blah, blah, blah.
Especially blah-ful is my knowledge that up until last year there was a speculative-fiction writer's workshop within commuting distance of my home and held on weekends, that had been running for THIRTY YEARS.
THAT, I could have managed. I know Dear Husband would have backed me on that one. The urchins would have gotten used to it, and I would have just taken a deep breath and accepted the pay-back grumpiness.
But just last year it closed up shop in this area and moved out to San Diego.
Quadruple BLAH.
Feeling all hollow inside.
Or maybe not hollow so much as filled up with bad stuff. Neediness, insecurity, fear, jealousy, despair.
I'm like a cannoli filled with rotten cream.
Well, maybe it's just February in Michigan.
That and all this other stuff too.
...Amidst the chaos of our kitchen.
At first I was going to move them to a clear background for a more glamourous pic (which I did actually do -- see below), but then I decided -- what more perfect representation of our life and marriage and current life-stage???
Let's see, in addition to the aforementioned blooms, there's... a basket of paper napkins and bin of hand-sanitizer; a couple of small bins of miscellaneous little "stuff" that never seems to find homes for itself; graham crackers in a ziploc bag; a plastic drinking cup from Michigan Stadium; somebody's Chapstick; Precious Princess's personally-made-at-preschool snow-globe (one of her most cherished possessions -- that yellowish-looking little plastic bottle -- don't worry, it's not water, it's cooking oil); a pump bottle of Aveeno hand lotion; a book for planning a vacation to Disney with kids -- slightly out of date, no doubt, but bought for a measly dollar at a garage sale. Hidden by the flowers is Eldest Son's homework timer, the kind that works like a traffic light; and just out of the foreground of the pic is Littlest Brother's sippy cup full of orange juice left over from lunch.
Herewith, the more attractive version of the flower pic:
And finally -- The Card!
And who says engineers can't be romantic?? Ha!
This card does completely sum up our two respective opinions on minor repairs of all sorts, from cars to laundry machines to home improvements.
(And he usually does manage to fix it himself, blast it!)
To what do I owe this floral largesse, you ask?
Our 15th Wedding Anniversary!
Yes, friends, our marriage is now 15 years old; in other words, entering that slouching pimply pugnacious stage, where one needs to keep a tight grip on the dashboard and one's insurance premiums.
No, not really. Actually these past few years have been among the best of our married lives. Owing to what, I have very little clue.
Maybe it's that we stopped having new babies, and have begun to form an integrated whole with the souls already present in our family. Maybe it's that, related to that same phenomenon, my hormonally-induced personality disorder(s) have finally receded into the background. Maybe it's that now that the real work of child-rearing has begun, we've formed a deeper appreciation for the value of one another's presence, if for no other reason than the ability to tag-team. We both truly, madly, deeply desire -- not to be single parents to our unruly brood. Or maybe it's just luck.
Or maybe it's just love.
But "all you need is love"? -- No.
I would say, how we've made it this far is, in order of importance...
(1) Luck.
I have been lucky. Plain and simple. Sometimes we get what we deserve -- and sometimes we get luckier than that. And this was one of the greatest strokes of luck in my entire life: Falling in love with that boy, then. When we were both young and beautiful. When life's great adventure lay spread before us like a friendly sunny vale, when all of life's opportunities seemed ripe for the plucking, when that beautiful golden boy (6'3", strong-armed, long-legged, brightly blond, golden tan, big blue-green eyes with lusciously thick golden lashes, wide generous smile, still waters running deep) materialized on my path and took my hand and offered to take on that adventure with me. Luck. Absolutely.
(2) Faith. 'Nuff said, here.
(3) Friendship.
We were friends for nearly three years before we started dating. We had seen the best and the worst of each other before we started dating. And, though there may be many despicable acts a person can consider toward someone they're falling out of love with -- and I understand that impulse, believe me -- somehow it seems harder to do to a friend. He is still my best friend. He has been my emotional, practical, and financial support more times than I can count, a shoulder to cry on, my cheering section, my rock. He has always been my friend.
(4) Commitment.
This means, on those occasions when I found myself attracted to someone else, making a conscious choice to turn those feelings toward my husband. To remember those early days when that beautiful golden boy was the light of my life, when I couldn't spend enough waking hours with him, when I could count the very hairs on his forearm and be giddy with pleasure at the thought of each one. To remember that I love the man he is now more fully, deeply, and richly than the girl I was then could even have imagined. That is where my heart's home is. To remember that.
It means, on those occasions when he was a jerk (and yes, there have been those), making a conscious choice to open my hand and drop that hurt. Not keep clutching it in my fist like a shard of broken glass where it could keep on cutting me, but drop it. Forgive.
It means, on those occasions when I was a jerk (and uh -- gee -- yes, there have been those), admitting it (though sometimes only to myself, I'm afraid), learning from it, and trying to make it up to him. He refused to fight with me, those dark years of my untreated depression -- and that was a conscious choice on his part, to turn the other cheek and walk away from those fights. Did he wonder, then, if it was always going to be like this, 'til death do us part? For how many more decades? How much strength, how much faith did it take for him to believe it was worth it? To believe I was worth it? That we were worth it? (Thank goodness that's behind us!)
(5) Humor.
Dignity, I've decided, is not the natural state for the human animal. Laugh at the indignities life inflicts upon you -- goodness knows, everybody else will.
(6) Luck.
Did I mention luck?
*****
And that's it! Mama Carole's majik love potion. 15 years of wedded bliss (or, um, well, let's stick with bliss), guaranteed.
Cheers.
;-)
Had a snow day today.
Had some neighbor kids & their mom over to sled; our front yard is a great sledding hill.
Precious Princess had enough of trudging up the hill and decided to try swinging on the backyard playpark.
Three little monkeys in the snow:
Eldest Son,
Littlest Brother,
Precious Princess.
Happy Winter, everybody!
