I wandered downstairs in the middle of the night and then I found myself wondering why the kitchen floor was so sticky. The floor that I scrubbed twice last week and then used the robotic floor cleaner, who we have named Bob, on every other night. Except last night, because I never went back downstairs after the drama of putting the tiny toddler to bed. And, not to be outdone, the kitchen table was sticky as well. The big five year old's flip flops were peaking in at me from the back porch and a half gallon empty bottle of bubble solution was in the bathroom sink. So I had a lot to think about.
What the heck went on down here last night?
But none of that matters. Even the crazy bedtime last night isn't important. Here is what I really should be thinking about...
I volunteered in the nursery at church yesterday morning. A few days before this I started telling the tiny toddler that I would be working in the nursery with him. And every time I told him, he clapped and cheered. He truly wanted me there with him. He really is a little too old for the nursery- our church offers Sunday school starting as young as two years old, so, at three, he really should be attending that class and not hanging out with the babies in the nursery. I hadn't tried to transition him to this class yet, though, because a little guy can only handle so much change at one time. But yesterday the nursery coordinator asked him if he wanted to go to Sunday school, he said "yes", and off they went, hand in hand. When I went to pick him up he was hanging out in the middle of a group of kids, popping bubble wrap, which, let's face it, is everyones' favorite thing to do! Success! That's what I should be thinking about!
And here's the biggest weekend success of all. My husband and I went out Saturday night for our small group couples dinner/bible study, and we used a new sitter that the kids had never met before. I knew all was well when I called home partway through the evening and the sitter told me that they had put together the pirate hats I had left for them to make, she was wearing hers, and she was, and I quote, "rockin it." They boys loved her and had a great night. They next morning, yesterday, I went in to wake up the tiny toddler for church. After we played our daily game where he rolls to the far end of his crib where I can't reach and and then pretends he is a cat, I finally managed to grab him and give him a big hug, telling him that I missed him the night before. He smiled and hugged me back and then told me all about his night while I got him dressed. "Hat", he said, pointing to his head. "ball" he said, pointing the window. (Seeing as no windows were broken I assumed he was pointing outside and showing me where he played ball.) I set him down on the floor after putting on his shoes and told him to go find Daddy. And here's the best part. I followed him down the hall, past his brother's room where my big five year old was simultaneously making his bed and doing some sort of hip hop dance while singing to himself, and into our bedroom. And my tiny toddler walked up to Daddy, touched his knee, and said, "missed you Daddy." oh. my. god. This is huge. Sometimes we feel as though this little guy is more of an occasionally angry room mate than a son. He often seems to exist with us- likes to spend time with us, depends on us to meet his needs, but truly emotionally invested in us? Maybe not so much. But yesterday morning he told his daddy that he had missed him.
I am planning to work tomorrow evening, so before then we will make a plan to keep the boys busy. Maybe I will make a list of activities for them to keep busy. Maybe those activities will take place