Why doesn’t going to bed early feel as good as sleeping late?
Either way, I’m turning in, because I do know that going to bed early and getting up early is better than going to bed late and getting up early. (But for the record neither one is as good as sleeping late)
A few weeks ago my sister’s twins and my cousin’s three kids had a big sleepover together and my sister sent me this picture.
From left, Madelyn, Alessandra, Lydia, Jacob, Isabella
These kids absolutely adore eachother. They always want to get together and hang out, and they were pretty much in their glory at this sleepover…even while brushing their teeth. Somewhere along the way they became old enough and were able to entertain eachother enough that when all us “grown ups” get together, they head down to the basement, we close the door, and everyone’s happy.
When I got this picture it made me think…when did I become the grown up who was happier to sit around a table upstairs than to run around like a banshee with my cousins? We have a big family; to some of you that may in fact be an understatement. My dad has 6 siblings, who are all married, and have between 2 and four children a piece. So that makes 21 first cousins…and we all grew up in the same city. We spent every holiday together, and I say holiday in the loosest sense of the term. We were hard core - every birthday, anniversary, Martin Luther King Day or just Sunday afternoon was a family get together.
Since the sheer manpower of these gatherings was overwhelming, we kids always ended up in the basement (which was usually unfinished). We ate our meals on a sheet on the concrete floor together (we considered ourselves lucky if it was a flat sheet, not a fitted one, that was a special occasion) but we didn’t care, we just hung out and had fun.
It’s pretty cool to see the next generation of cousins doing the same thing. Their basements may be sheetrocked and carpeted, and they might even get a folding table and chairs to eat on, but I hope someday they look back on these times the same way we do…as we sit upstairs around the kitchen table and listen to the pitter patter of their footsteps in the basement.
In somewhat sequential order…I won’t list them all:
I have been sitting in this Dr’s office for 45 minutes. Lucky for me, I’m picking up some sort of wireless signal in here. I have learned that some offices just truly don’t care how long you wait, or whether you get to see the Dr. at all for that matter. Whereas others are apologetic if they make you wait more than 5 minutes. To be fair, these offices are ridiculously busy, and I’m sure they are about us excited to see me walk through the door as I am excited to be sitting here… spending a large portion of my morning doing very, very little.
Ever since we got Posh my daily struggle is trying to minimize the hours she spends in her crate, which, despite expert advice telling me it is the safest, most humane place to keep her when we’re not around, makes me feel like a horrible human being every time I see her peering out from inside of it. Brian and I had discussed gradually increasing her “area” when we’re not home once the Christmas stuff was down (which was last weekend, thank you very much!). You know…get some of those baby gates and give her a room or two (with nothing in it that she could destroy) to roam around in.
Wednesday morning Brian calls me and informs me that he left her out! He claims that he put her in her crate, went down to drink a cup of coffee, and heard her running down the stairs soon after…the little conartist. We should have named her Houdini! So as a reward of sorts for her escapism (we are going to be horrible parents) he closed all of the bedroom doors, picked up the shoes off the ground and just let her chill for the day. After he told me, I spent the majority of the day envisioning what I might come home to…absolute destruction, or worse…pee on the carpet that I don’t find until later. To say the least, I was intrigued.
Much to my surprise Posh does absolutely nothing when we’re gone from what we can tell. The couple times I’ve been able to spot her laying down when I get home before she runs to me, I’ve found her sleeping on the landing halfway up the staircase, where she goes so she can look out the front window and see us come and go. She hasn’t chewed or peed on anything, and while this obviously frees Posh from the 9+ hours she spends in the crate every day, it also frees me from worrying about whether or not leaving her in there for too long is considered animal cruelty.
It’s only been two days so we’ll see if this lasts. If we remain incident free she will not face an immediate lockdown, but if we do not…I will keep you posted.
Sorry for the interruption in “service.” I have neglected moving my website to a more secure and accessible location in recent months and the recent lapse is the result. No worries, I am back now and there is a 50% chance that I might learn from this lesson and find a new place to host this home away from home.
As a celebration of sorts for being up and running again, I would like to share with you a video I have been DYING to post since I saw it. I like to call it “The Holidays According to Isabella.” This video (which you have to watch with your head tilted to the side as a result of my mom’s videography skills) is a result of “Mimi” asking Isabella what she likes about the Holidays. She is dressed in her pajamas and what I can only assume to be princess wings for dress up purposes, and I absolutely love her take on Christmas.
Today Brian and I discovered that some classic, timeless games require no explanation, as their concept is innate to even the simplest of beings…more specifically, to Posh. We decided to merge Fetch and Catch and ended up playing Monkey in the Middle with Posh for about a half hour.
It was pretty easy and required no explanation to young Posh. Brian just played fetch with her for a while, then I jumped in and started catching the toy, and the rest is history. She ran back and forth as though she had no idea what was happening next. I started to feel bad, because she ran with such conviction…as though we would miss and she would at last embrace her prize, so I let her catch the toy a few times. As it turns out, I don’t think she cared at all. I’m not sure if dogs smile, but I think she was grinning a little as she enjoyed a favorite pasttime of ours. Good times, good times.
Or should I say “Things that make you realize you are old:”
I was not looking forward to a return to reality today as we left my mom’s to the tune of my neices begging us to stay for three more weeks (they were very specific about the time period). We agreed that we would return and that we both (along with Posh) would attend their birthday party at the “bannastics place” (which I later learned is in the same building as the “gymnastics place”) and they agreed to let us go home.
I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how much I dread coming home AFTER the holidays, but when I opened the door, the tree still looked festive and the house still smelled like cinnamon. I went on to discover the greatest temporary cure for my seasonal depression: All the stuff I got for Christmas!
I am unpacking all of our Christmas goodies and I feel like a kid again. I thought that as you got older you got less and less presents and were supposed to be mature and act like you were ok with it, a canned response I had been perfecting in recent years. Not that Santa wasn’t good to me in recent years, but this year I was spoiled and bombarded with much more than I expected. Brian totally spoiled me (as he always does), as did his family and mine. I kind of feel like I got too much, but I’m setting such foolish thoughts aside. In Pakistan it is rude to not accept a gift, no matter how elaborate or unnecessary. I think it a tribute to my culture to embrace my new treasures. 
So how did I fight the feeling? I am sipping out of my new starbucks mug, wearing my new pjs and slippers, along with my new diamond necklace (an unlikely, nonetheless marvelous ensemble). I am running up and down the stairs putting away lots of new clothes and shoes and homey stuff. Posh is sitting quietly chewing her new toy (a gift for both of us).
And I am topping it all off by arranging all of my jewelry (a collection which has grown from zero to too much for my top dresser drawer to handle in the last 12 months) into a new jewelry box I bought myself for Christmas thanks to a great sale at Kohl’s and the fact that it exactly matches (from the color of the “wood” to the silver knobs on the front) the dresser in my bedroom. It has like 15 compartments and all of my jewelry is now organized by type, style, occasion and color. Aaaaah…the gift of organization! And I’m watching Full House reruns while completing these tasks. Does it get any better? Perhaps this year I will be found victorious in the fight against post-holiday depression.
