Family Vacation

I haven't posted in a while - life has marched along. My husband and I got the opportunity to take a fabulous vacation to a sunny, gorgeous beach resort, courtesy of my husband's company. We built sandcastles in the tide of the Pacific, lounged on our own personal patio to watch the sunrise, and ate . . . and ate . . . and ate. Our little men were left in the tender care of their grandparents: two sets, working in shifts. We talked to them on the phone each evening, and they made us regaled us with stories of the day and reports of how things were, and were not, moving along as normally scheduled. I missed them desperately: I found myself thinking, "Oh, I wish the boys could see this" or, "Wouldn't we love to bring the boys here?" I knew that everyone was doing wonderfully and having an amazing time, but I couldn't help but wonder if they remembered to check the homework pocket of the binder, or if they remembered to order and extra red sauce with the Crazy Bread. So silly!
On Sunday night, we came trudging in the door, so very tired and glad to be home. The misters were fast asleep, and it took all that I had not to wake them up by scooping them up to me and squeezing them until they squeaked. I settled for kisses on the forehead.
By 7:00 the next morning, I was feeling more like pinching than squeezing -- it doesn't take long, does it? But the time gave us a recharge and a renewal, and we are better for it as a family.

Munchalicious

First of all, let me be clear:  we take meals VERY seriously at my house.  We create the weekly dinner menu as a family, and use our very best consensus-building skills to do it.  When the monthly lunch menu comes home, we sit down and have a family conference about which lunch we'll be having, or if we'll be bringing our lunchbox to school on any given day.  We review that morning what the lunch will be, in the event any last minute adjustments need to be made.  We leave nothing to chance.  And so it comes as a bit of a shock to me that my oldest son has a MASSIVE meltdown at lunchtime one day this week.  Why?  Because he has decided on the way to school that he does not want a grilled cheese sandwich, after all.  He wants to have his lunchbox, with hot dog, no squiggle of mustard, just bun, and a cup of chocolate pudding.  Now, does he share this information with me?  No, he does not.  Does he share this with his teacher?  No, he does not, except to inform her that he will not be making his lunch choice that morning.  (With this child, that act could mean any number of things, none of them actually having to do with lunch.)  He simply refuses to go to the cafeteria.  He tells his teacher, and later on the assistant principal, that he cannot, CANNOT, go to the cafeteria without his lunchbox.  Now, finally, after a Mommy Intervention, we finally get to the bottom of this and move on with life, but it is not without a one-act play in the hall.
That night, my younger son, who has agreed that morning that a hot dog will be a great dinner (Hot dog?  Ah, yes . . . that's right - hot dog.  You see the connection.), decides that a hot dog will NOT be a great dinner, decides to sob inconsolably for 40 minutes about not having . . . wait for it . . . grilled cheese.  Are you kidding me, here?
No, no, wait - we're not done.  The next day, everyone has such a great day at school that we make a trip to Sonic for dinner as a reward.  The older son?  A grilled cheese sandwich.  And the younger?  I'll bet you can guess. . . 


Enjoy your next meal.  Hopefully, in peace.