Last night Lydia had an accident at 1am, so I cleaned her up and brought her into bed with me. As delightful it was to sleep next to such a sweet little heater, sleep was lighter from there on out.
Lydia made up for my light sleep by sitting in front of Dora the Explorer and Harry the Bunny for two hours (eep!) while I studied my scriptures, ran on the treadmill, and showered. (Mary, thank the stars, naps all morning with the exception of breakfast.)
After Mary woke up from her nap, I fed the girls lunch and hauled them to the Discovery Museum for an hour. Lydia didn’t want to leave, and I did not feel up to carrying her kicking and screaming in one arm while holding Mary in the other…so I bribed her to leave with cookies. I felt like a bad mom, especially because the minute Mary saw the cookies she practically foamed at the mouth until I gave her some. I am SO worried about her sugar addiction, and I feel really bad every time I find myself giving her sugar. It shouldn’t be that hard to just not give her any, right?!
We came home and the girls passed out long enough for me to embroider and hem some fabric for a baby skirt. Our friend, Aria, just had a baby, and I have been meaning to get this skirt made for months. Now the baby’s been here for practically two weeks, and I am just now getting around to the project.
When the girls woke up from their naps, we went on an “outing” to the garbage to throw away the many poopy diapers Mary produced today, and then the girls had dinner.
After dinner, Lydia insisted that she wanted to read to Mary and play with Mary…without me. A host of emotions ensued. First off, I completely understand why playing without me is, as Lydia said, more fun. I always point out the ways various activities she’s engaged in can end in her demise. One particularly embarrassing example of this occurred last week. The back door was open and I was scolding Lydia loudly for hanging onto the book shelf. I described to her in graphic, gory detail what it would feel like if the shelf fell on her and she died and or got maimed and or got dismembered. Our sweet, angelic, seventy-three year old landlord happened to pass by the open door during my diatribe, and he was clearly shocked. I was embarrassed, but not embarrassed enough to change my ways. So no wonder Lydia doesn’t want to play with me!
It still hurts, though.
On the other hand, the fact that she successfully entertained Mary without my supervision translated into more free time for me, so being kicked out of their play time wasn’t exactly terrible. I got an hour of piano practice in.
What am I practicing for? I have no idea. I said in a recent blog I play for myself and my family, and that’s true. But I also realize that having a goal might help focus my practice, so I am considering entering some amateur competitions. You have to be 35 for the Van Cliburn, so I have four and a half years to get myself in shape.
Abe got home from his trip at 8pm, and I immediately ran to the piano for another hour of practice. And now it’s blogging time, and soon–sleepy time. Hooray! We made it to the weekend! In fact, since my house always gets trashed on the weekend, I am not picking up tonight as a nod to that sad reality.