Interrupted Saturday.
It is tragic when, on a Saturday, your alarm goes off and you instantly panic, wondering why you can't remember what you're supposed to jump out of bed for.
The mundane days where everything runs together in a fast and furious marathon, those days are for alarms and panic. Saturdays are like precious jewels and pirate treasure: you protect it. An alarm at 5:45 Saturday morning is like being raided. So much for a lazy Saturday morning, thank you, Me and phone alarm fail.
Just...ugh.
Finally gave up the battle of reclaiming sleep. My mind annoyingly starts pumping into gear when it hears the alarm. However: decent kudos to me for recent shopping trip, where fresh beans to grind and muffins (with precisely zero health attributes) lay in wait for me on the kitchen counter. The computer was also unoccupied. A sorry consolation prize, but still slightly mollifying.
Today. Well, since I'm half way caffeinated, I may as well let my mind ramble on (sing my song) and look at the day.
The Youngest Child, my little fae sprite, is heading off to spend a weekend with her great-grandparents in the mountains. She'll have a good time. Of all my Snapelings she's the most communicative, never takes her long to make a friend out of any child anywhere. Communication skills don't equate to organization skills, and I need to get her up soon to finish packing. Such a sweet little thing all snuggled up on the big comfy couch where she fell asleep last night.
Planning. Well, today I need to pick up buckets of food in preparation of tomorrow's shenanigans.
At 4pm on the morrow the Beast Child's birthday party will commence, where the Snape will probably go to sleep at 5pm and aggravatingly leave me to be overrun by many young warriors planning or executing battle strategies for a great war (airsoft, goggles, camo, war paint) in the orchards.
The Beast and the Viking know their land like the back of their hands, and I do feel almost sorry for the other guys who are going to play against them. Some of the boys have parents who live in the country like we do, and we all rotate hosting the wars. It's just my boys turn to rule the roost.
Beast was explaining an ambush he was planning. Apparently one of the guys coming 'scooped' Beast, and as Beast is nicknamed thusly, "so beware the mortal who trifles with the great and powerful forces of this earth not understood by them," there is retribution to be paid. The Viking just goes along for every ride with the occasional clever/acidly-witty remark thrown in as his brother dominates as war captain. All I need to know is that I need to be ready for the large amounts of food consumption: Mile high meatloaf sandwiches at 6 followed by mountains of cheesecake filled, chocolate covered strawberries and cupcakes. A big pot of spaghetti will be awaiting in the fridge for them at midnight, the witching hour that, by house law, all shenanigans come to a close for the animals and neighbors sake...but mostly mine.
Thinking of my lack of Motherly assistance this morning, as I'm the one who plans all these things. I crazy miss my Mom, who has just as much excitement about planning these things as I do, and then relishing the enjoyment that comes from the kids having such a wonderful time.
I miss my parents during these times so, so much. I'm ignoring the empty space I have at wishing I had adults to share the fun with, the planning, execution, and results. But they're far away. Mother is travelling to Venice, Italy today to study art history, Dad's in meetings. In a different country. On a different continent. Sigh. Sometimes without her like-enthusiasm and my Dad's special way of adding sentiment to every occasion, or even just their need to talk about events transpiring with joy, life can be a little lonely. My Brother, the other half of my creative brain, lives on the other side of this land mass, days worth of driving away.
Alright, need to push off this thing, not just plop down in the huge leather arm chair next to me and start reading book 5 of the Mortal Instruments series. NO!
The mundane days where everything runs together in a fast and furious marathon, those days are for alarms and panic. Saturdays are like precious jewels and pirate treasure: you protect it. An alarm at 5:45 Saturday morning is like being raided. So much for a lazy Saturday morning, thank you, Me and phone alarm fail.
Just...ugh.
Finally gave up the battle of reclaiming sleep. My mind annoyingly starts pumping into gear when it hears the alarm. However: decent kudos to me for recent shopping trip, where fresh beans to grind and muffins (with precisely zero health attributes) lay in wait for me on the kitchen counter. The computer was also unoccupied. A sorry consolation prize, but still slightly mollifying.
Today. Well, since I'm half way caffeinated, I may as well let my mind ramble on (sing my song) and look at the day.
The Youngest Child, my little fae sprite, is heading off to spend a weekend with her great-grandparents in the mountains. She'll have a good time. Of all my Snapelings she's the most communicative, never takes her long to make a friend out of any child anywhere. Communication skills don't equate to organization skills, and I need to get her up soon to finish packing. Such a sweet little thing all snuggled up on the big comfy couch where she fell asleep last night.
Planning. Well, today I need to pick up buckets of food in preparation of tomorrow's shenanigans.
At 4pm on the morrow the Beast Child's birthday party will commence, where the Snape will probably go to sleep at 5pm and aggravatingly leave me to be overrun by many young warriors planning or executing battle strategies for a great war (airsoft, goggles, camo, war paint) in the orchards.
The Beast and the Viking know their land like the back of their hands, and I do feel almost sorry for the other guys who are going to play against them. Some of the boys have parents who live in the country like we do, and we all rotate hosting the wars. It's just my boys turn to rule the roost.
Beast was explaining an ambush he was planning. Apparently one of the guys coming 'scooped' Beast, and as Beast is nicknamed thusly, "so beware the mortal who trifles with the great and powerful forces of this earth not understood by them," there is retribution to be paid. The Viking just goes along for every ride with the occasional clever/acidly-witty remark thrown in as his brother dominates as war captain. All I need to know is that I need to be ready for the large amounts of food consumption: Mile high meatloaf sandwiches at 6 followed by mountains of cheesecake filled, chocolate covered strawberries and cupcakes. A big pot of spaghetti will be awaiting in the fridge for them at midnight, the witching hour that, by house law, all shenanigans come to a close for the animals and neighbors sake...but mostly mine.
Thinking of my lack of Motherly assistance this morning, as I'm the one who plans all these things. I crazy miss my Mom, who has just as much excitement about planning these things as I do, and then relishing the enjoyment that comes from the kids having such a wonderful time.
I miss my parents during these times so, so much. I'm ignoring the empty space I have at wishing I had adults to share the fun with, the planning, execution, and results. But they're far away. Mother is travelling to Venice, Italy today to study art history, Dad's in meetings. In a different country. On a different continent. Sigh. Sometimes without her like-enthusiasm and my Dad's special way of adding sentiment to every occasion, or even just their need to talk about events transpiring with joy, life can be a little lonely. My Brother, the other half of my creative brain, lives on the other side of this land mass, days worth of driving away.
Alright, need to push off this thing, not just plop down in the huge leather arm chair next to me and start reading book 5 of the Mortal Instruments series. NO!
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