I was tired yesterday when I came home from Church. I wanted to take a nap, but I knew there was no time to waste. I unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher, made a quick lunch for everyone (tuna), and put Conor down for a nap. At least I would have a few toddler-free hours.
Sunday is the day when my stepkids come over, and we get to be all together as a family. I like to make it extra special for them, and for all of us. We usually have a big Sunday dinner, and the girls help peel potatoes and set the table. Pretty. I roast a chicken. Or two. Seasoned just right, and finger-lickin' good, really. Lion House rolls, corn, beans, fruit, mashed potatoes and gravy. Like a mini-Thanksgiving.
Of course, when we sit down to eat, I have to remind the boys that I did not go through all of this work to cook a nice dinner and set a beautiful table so we could hear fart jokes, racist jokes, or the violent imaginings of their junior high minds. Good grief! How will I get them married? Ah, the family dinner. A time to learn so many things. Like, let's not use our chicken leg bone as a spoon, okay?
Everyone helped clean up after dinner, and get the table cleared because last night was the night of the Graham Cracker Houses! A favorite tradition, no matter how young or old. See the spread? (Oh, and by the way, this lovely dresser, which I turned into a dining room sideboard--mostly to spare poor Adam from having to lug something else up those infernal stairs--was FREE! Yes, the friend that sold us the armoire for $100, gave us the dresser as a bonus, just to be nice and because he had to get it out of his house in preparation of new furniture. Isn't it perfect?)
It's always cool to see how different everyone's creation is. Even Conor got into it this year. I constructed the little house for him and then piped some royal icing on it, and he stuck his little candies on.
(Adam's apartment building)
Anyway, my tiredness dissolved somewhere between those tuna sandwiches and the graham cracker frenzy. I don't remember feeling tired again until everything was cleaned up, wiped down, put away, and the baby was snoozing. The Christmas carols were playing, and the white lights of the tree softened the edge of the early darkness and the rainstorm that was brewing outside. I'm grateful for that burst of energy. Moms only have so many Christmases with their little ones. Mine are getting fewer and fewer. I want every memory to be jolly and warm, and sugary sweet. I want them to fall asleep smiling.
Like my mother did for me.