Toddlers Don't Get Holidays
Isn't it ironic to be surrounded by people (small ones albeit) all day and yet be lonely?
I'm not alone. I am literally never alone.
Even when I try to sneak away to gain my composure, take a breath, or pee.
One of them always finds me.
It's like the have a radar.
Yet, sometimes parenting is isolating.
Thanksgiving was one of those days for me.
Andrew ended up having to work pretty much a normal day, and while the kids and I did have some sweet moments, some holiday-ish moments...watching the parade together, staying in our pajamas for far too long, making paint turkeys with the big kids' hands while June took her morning nap, and skyping with family...it was very much routine instead of what felt like should have been something special. There were still tantrums to break up, mess upon mess to clean, mouths to feed allllll day long.
Toddlers don't get holidays.
They know something's different, and Henry was really excited about using china and adult silverware for our dinner, and Nelle is up for anything when I let her wear some of my lipstick. But as I was trying to finish the remaining handful of sides, plus get the turkey out on time, and repeating with a little too much exasperation in my voice, "I just want to have a nice meal!" for probably the fourth time (expectations, Ali...get them in check), Andrew finally got home from work, and it felt like Thanksgiving.
The rest of our house was a wreck,
but we sat down and talked about what thankful means and what we were thankful for.
Our family, five, this year; our health; our house; our jobs; our time together.
We ate the pie that Nelle helped me prepare the afternoon before.
(Don't let those dimpled cherub hands fool you. My wedding rings are missing right now because rumor has it from the oldest toddler that the younger toddler flushed them down the toilet. One of his cars made it down the other toilet last week and completely got wedged because he practically sits on her shoulder like the you-know-what and whispers, "yeah, do it" because he knows he's not supposed to, but if she does it, then they share the thrill without him getting the consequence...or so he thinks. How, on Sunday night, when both Andrew and I were on bath duty, this happened, we can't figure out. I'm trying to remember that things are just things and don't matter, but symbols of our marriage and the ring I got for my first Mother's Day floating in the the sewer system...ugh. Ham has been known to tell a few fibs before so I really have my fingers crossed they show up in one of the few places in our house we haven't literally turned upside down looking for them. I digress.)
We started a new tradition, Elf on the Shelf. Henry named our elf Teacup, and Andrew has been way more on top of remembering to move her around than I have. Except for last night when I got up to feed June at 5am and knew we both had forgotten. June ate and passed back out, and Teacup magically got back from the North Pole in time to land on our fridge before breakfast.
These are the days.
Both lonely and not.
Both happy and hard.
Both exhausting and exhilarating.
Both short and long.
They won't remember all of this Thanksgiving. Or at all. Ha.
The good moments, the lonely moments, the routine moments in between.
But as they get older, one of these years, we'll sit down all together, after watching the parade, and staying in our jammies for too long, I'll probably still be whining "I just want to have a nice meal!!", and it will feel like Thanksgiving.
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