Here are a few of the events of the past several weeks:
I gave up on my makeshift garden (a few potted vegetables scattered throughout the backyard) and decided a weekly trip to the Farmers' Market would be a better use of my time, energy, and money.
Steve and I each celebrated a birthday. He turned 44.
A day later, I turned 39. My last year in my thirties.
To celebrate, we had dinner at PF Changs, then went to Jack's first cub scout pack meeting. Jack earned his "Bobcat", and had to put the pin on me.
I was the only mom insisting on posing for a photo. I didn't care.
Then we came home and ate cheesecake, which I had made earlier that afternoon. I didn't care that I made my own cake, it was what I wanted and I savored every calorie-rich bite.
Steve and I celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary. On a Tuesday.
To commemorate, we left Olivia in charge of the boys and headed downtown for a lovely, quiet, dinner for two. We marveled that we had reached this milestone, where not only were we happily married after all these years, but we also had kids old enough to leave at home—alone!—for a couple of hours without worrying.
When we got home and tucked the kids into bed, we asked Olivia what she thought an appropriate pay scale would be for a big sister babysitting. This was her reply: "Well, I did do the dishes, and fed them a treat, and got them in their PJs and ready for bed. I think $3/hour would be fair." DONE!
I co-chaired the Walkathon fundraiser at the kids' school. It was a huge success...breaking records of previous years. We brought in over $28,000...which for a school of just 260 kids is no small feat. It took weeks of time and effort and planning, but it all paid off, and I'm glad it's over.
My daughter has turned into a pre-teen. She went to the first school dance of the year. Thankfully, she is still a bit disgusted by the boys, and far prefers hanging out with her friends.
My boys turned into little men. I snuck in to peek at them sleeping before going to bed last night. I couldn't help but snap these photos.
Moments after capturing his angelic slumber, Jack started projectile vomiting, which continued every 30 minutes for nearly 8 hours. No sleep for either one of us, and a whole lot of carpet scrubbing and laundry.
Since there's no slow-down in sight, I'll take a deep breath, wash my hands (and the dirty clothes and dishes), and enjoy the ride.