Us on a Tuesday

The girls and I are hanging out today.

They let me sleep in until 10:00am, which is practically unprecedented. More accurately, Sophie let Emma and me sleep in. She got up about 7:00, crept into my room, grabbed my ipad, and headed to the family room for a three hour marathon of "My Little Pony." Normally I wouldn't let her watch videos on my ipad for that long, but considering I would probably let both girls bungee jump off the roof in exchange for extra sleep (as long as they promised to be quiet), extended screen time seems pretty benign, don't you think?

After I arise (and Emma soon after me...she is a definite non-morning person just like her mother), we eat breakfast and start whittling away at Sophie's birthday gifts that have yet to be opened. Sophie makes duct tape pencils and Lalaloopsy pop bead necklaces while Emma listens to music on her ipod. Em gets distracted more often than not by Sophie's activities and clearly longs to be part of the fun. She is at war with herself, trapped in that weird land of childlike tweendom, torn between "little kid" and "big kid" endeavors. She wears the struggle like a coat, for all to see, although she herself is unaware. Finally, she abandons the ipod and hunkers down on the floor alongside her sister, joining Sophie in dressing Minnie Mouse in gorgeous snap-on ensembles. The struggle usually ends this way, with Emma jumping into her sister's world, as delighted as Sophie to play with dolls and other "babyish" things. I am very aware that soon--tomorrow, next month, next year?--the struggle will end very differently and/or change altogether. But for today, fun has won. My girls are truly enjoying each other, and I listen to their exquisite giggles as I work at the computer.

I ask the girls to get dressed. Emma brushes her hair and wails "Oh my god, it hurts SO MUCH, I can't take it, I CAN'T TAKE IT!" for 10 minutes while Sophie and I pointedly ignore her. The girls help me dye my hair, which is to say that they laugh and tell me I look like a weird alien as I wait for the dye to set. We eat lunch. They play the "He Is Dead" game, which seems to consist of pointing at imaginary bodies on the ground and chanting, "He is dead! He is dead! He has a bullet in his head!" They morph into different games with odd titles like "It's Dead As A Chicken Bone!" (sense a theme?), "The Hug Game," and "Spit Or Don't Spit? You Decide." (Yes, they title all their pretend games.) The games seem to include a lot of running and pushing and wrestling around, punctuated by frequent declarations of "T," which means time-out. Emma is always the leader, although Sophie is often the mastermind. Every game ends the same way--one girl accidentally gets too rough with the other, harsh words are exchanged, tears are shed, and then play resumes before I even have time to intervene.

We move on from pretend games to doing Barbie hair and listening to Ariana Grande. The girls discuss the merits of high ponytails vs. braids, and Emma tells Sophie she is really good at taking care of her dolls. Sophie beams with pleasure at the rare compliment from her big sister. They argue over which of their favorites on "The Voice" (Jaquie or Caroline) should win. Emma suddently screams, "It's so hard to brush her hair when HER HEAD KEEPS MOVING!" while seemingly oblivious to the fact that Barbie's head keeps moving because she keeps moving. Emma hands me a list of 19 songs she wants me to download for her ipod.

We head out for errands. Marshall's for winter coats - Fail. Corner Bakery for monster cookies - Success. (OF COURSE.) Costco for Thanksgiving supplies. Library for movies to see us through the long weekend. Burlington Coat Factory for winter coats - Success, but only after 90 minutes of wading through six rows of coats sized 2T to 20, in absolutely no order. (Come on Burlington...you're better than that. Have some pride, dude.) Sophie is the holdout. After wading through tons of coats for numerous options that are tried and rejected, one coat is declared the winner. We walk to the checkout area at the other side of the store, stand in line for the next available clerk, and approach the register. As the clerk begins to ring us up, Sophie pulls her classic Actually move, as in, "Actually, I don't like this one after all." And she does this twice. TWICE. We go back, look again, go through the same routine, only for her to change her mind at the register a second time. I come very close to screaming right in her face, "I WILL NOT LET YOUR EVIL DEFEAT ME." (I settle for screaming it in my head instead.) Finally, as they say, the third time is the charm. However, of course, the coat she finally settles on is twice the price of Emma's coat and every other coat we have tried. When I complain about this, she shrugs and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't know how much it would cost. I don't know how much being happy costs, Mommy."

Now we are nestled back at home, and they are again listening to Ariana while I finish this post and start to scramble for dinner. I forgot some of the ingredients I need when we were out shopping earlier, so Chris will run to the store for me after work. I will make tilapia, Emma's favorite...complete with a salami sandwich for Sophie, who will not touch fish even under threat of grievous bodily harm. We will gather together after dinner and watch last night's "The Voice," with one girl snuggled on each side of me. (Poor Daddy. The girls adore him, but I get all the snuggles. Doesn't seem fair, does it?) We will do showers and brush teeth and read books and sing lullabies, and after the girls are all tucked into bed, we will Skype our beloved friends in New York for a long overdue check in. I'll make a list before bed of all the packing/organizing/cleaning/etc. that needs to be done tomorrow before we hit the road for St. Louis. And I will fall to sleep thinking of 1) how much I love my family, 2) how blessed I am that they love me back, and 3) how very, very much I have to do in the morning. In that order...I hope.

Days like today, with all the chaos and simplicity, make me so unbelievably grateful. I seem to have accidentally built myself the perfect imperfect life...or at least, the perfect one for me.