Beach Days

After hours on the beach, I pile all the gear into and on top of the car, rinse off shivery bodies, pull out the dregs of the snacks from the bottom of the bag because everyone is STARVING, soothe the cranky and teary meltdowns , and try to hold it all together myself, not lose my patience, and end up saying things like, "if you don't stop crying, we are NEVER going to the beach again!"
And then we get home and it's quick! make dinner, get them bathed, and into bed because they are so wiped out.
It is always kind of frantic and crazy, and everyone is on the verge of hysteria.
Beach days end hard.

But those long, long, hours at the beach are worth all that.
Every. single. time. they are worth it.
Today William, Davy, and I spent an hour kneeling in the shallow water hunting for tiny, darting, fish that hide in the sand until our hands stirred them up.
William caught one with his quick little hands.
He was so proud.
What fun we had, spying on that quiet world under water.
Today the boys built a city of sand with their buddies.
They were building Stonehenge and Hadrian's Wall, and some other British landmarks they've learned about in history.
I loved listening to their conversation, "how did they get those stones up anyway?"
Today Lilly floated around in a little, green inner tube that someone left on the sand.
She is far too big for it, but was happy as a clam, as she floated along, booty dragging on the sandy bottom.
Today Davy romped around with all the big kids, and loved his life.
Today they spent hours in the water on surf boards and boogie boards, talking and laughing, and hanging out in the water with all their buddies.
Today they swam to the wall, jumped off the dock, and braved the swarm of boats being piloted by novice sailors.
Today, they lived a beautiful day.

Sure there were moments that weren't so perfect.
Sand in the face and sun screen in the eyes.
Toddler fights over sand toys, and water bottles.
2 pooping trips to the public restroom, where I wanted to barf rather than stand there waiting for them to finish, and have to tell my 2 year old not to touch anything 5,000 times.
I really, really, really hate public restrooms.
There is no such thing as constant bliss--at least not on this earth.
This quote really fits those kind of moments, don't you think?

As the sun sank lower and the beach grew emptier, my heart was full from our time there together with friends, and with each other.
Time in the sun, in the water, and enjoying God's glorious creation.
It blesses us so deeply.
After the tedious job of loading everyone in the car, we pull away from the curb, and I say the same thing every time, "I had such a great day with you guys!  I love being at the beach with you.  I love you all so much."
And it's so true.
Even if there is chaos when we get home.
At 9 pm I am still wearing my damp bathing suit and cleaning up the kitchen from our slap-dash dinner.
I am tired.
But it was worth it.
The good things always are.
I love summer time.

Hope your summer days are treating you right.--little stupid things and all.

Love from,

Greta

Life With a 2 Year Old

Davy has been 2 for almost a month now.
I didn't really find 2 hard with my other kids.
James was easy from day 1--there were never any terrible 2s with him.
William was challenging from 2-3 but it was more with a few key issues, not the tantrums and  the whole, terrible 2s thing.
Lilly was tough from 1 until close to 2 before she got her words.
She screamed so much, and so shrilly, that many days I thought I'd have a nervous breakdown before Aaron got home from work.
It was tough.
But then she found her words and just like that, the screaming was gone.

David was a bit later with the language.
Much like his brother, William, Davy has really started to talk after turning 2.
And all the screaming that was happening when he couldn't get his words out is happening a lot less these days.
We actually have conversations now.
They go something like this:
Me: "Davy, it's almost Lilly's birthday and we'll sing the happy birthday song to her."
Davy: "Wooooow.  No!  My happy birthday!"
Me: "Davy, we got Lilly a Hello Kitty bike for her birthday."
Davy: "Woooow.  No!  My Hello Kitty bike!"
Me: "Davy, come with me to get a snack for the boys."
Davy, with snack in hand: "No! Get my snack!"
If it was my first kid I'd be terrified that he'd grow up into the most selfish person ever.
Instead, I know he's just acting like a 2 year old acts, and that we'll help him learn to share, and not be such a little tyrant.
And I'm laughing a lot at living life with a 2 year old.

There's nothing like it!
Love from,
Greta

*I know I should probably be ashamed of this picture, but it just makes me laugh.  Mostly because I totally drove him to this response.  All he wanted to do was to play on the playground and I kept making him stand by this wall while I tried to get the perfect picture of him.  He kept saying, "more playground, mama!" over and over, while I snapped photo after photo.
Finally he clenched his fists and let out a scream as if to say, "if you won't listen to my words, will you listen to this, lady?!"
It worked.
We went to the playground and I ended up with this picture.
Which I kind of love.
And the reminder to listen to my kids and not drive them to this kind of response.
Also, I can totally relate to him
So many times I have wanted to have this exact kind of response to something.
Usually I manage to hold it together, and when I can't, there ends of being a lot of pots and pans being banged around, or very aggressive sweeping while I "mad clean".
I guess I still have a lot of two year old inside me.
Do you?

On 15 Years

Aaron and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary last week.
He was in Spain.
I was here.
And I missed him awfully.
When I suggested he go on this trip, we didn't know the dates.
When we got them, I realized he'd be gone on his birthday.
And Davy's birthday.
And our anniversary.
And Father's Day.
June is a big month for us.
And he said, "I don't have to go."
We'd been dreaming of going somewhere special for our 15th.
But a trip like this comes along only once in a great while, or only once ever.
And we'll have lots, and lots, more anniversaries.
So I said, "go."
And I meant it.

It was harder than I thought to have him gone on that day.
I was sad.
And I was lonely.
But I was also so glad he was there--having the adventure of a lifetime.

Before he left, Aaron gave me an anniversary present.
I wasn't surprised that he remembered, that he planned ahead, and got me something special.
I was, however, surprised by what he got me.
I was fully expecting jewelry.
In the past few years I have fallen in love with this jewelry designer and he has gotten me several of her pieces.
I love them madly.
I wear them all the time.
And I thought, "this is a pretty special day--I wonder what piece he got me?"
I should have known that he wouldn't do the expected.

Still I was surprised when, minutes before he left at 3:30 in the morning, he said, "your anniversary present is in our room.  Why don't you go get it."
Sitting on the dresser was a folded, white, tee-shirt.
I picked it up.
On the front of the shirt was a pretty bad drawing of a pelican holding a surf board.
A piece of paper fell out.
It was a gift certificate for surf camp.
He got me a week of SURF CAMP!

I walked back into the living room with tears in my eyes.
"I know its not very romantic.  It's kind of random.  Do you like it?"
"I love it," I smiled through my tears.
"It's just that you've talked about wanting to learn to surf for so long, and you always say that you want to go to surf camp.  So I just thought you should go."

And then the tears came faster.
He listens.
He knows me.
After 15 years, this is the sweetest gift of all.

Aaron and I met when I was 17.
He was 19.
By my 18th birthday we had fallen in love.
We've been together ever since.
We tried to break up once when we were dating.
But it didn't last the weekend.
A few years ago our marriage almost broke.
But we are fighters.
And even when we were fighting with each other, we were fighting for our marriage, and our love.

Now we're at 15 years.
It feels like a milestone.
It feels like a victory.
It feels like a miracle.
It feels like a gift.

I have referred to this verse often, but it feels so true for us right now.

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails." 1 Corinthians 4:7-8

Our love hasn't failed.

Even when we failed, there was grace and redemption, and love.

Sometimes our life has felt like a fairy tale, and at other times it has felt like hard work.

And all of it has been worth it.
I wouldn't trade this life with him.
I love him so.

We have spent the last 15 years growing up together.
I'd like to spend the rest of our life growing old together.

Happy anniversary, my Aaron.
I love you for always.
Love from,
Greta
PS.  And thank you for surf camp.  I can't wait!!  Kowabunga!

*I've written before about marriage. It's one of my passions.
You can read my take on real life romance here, and about the worthwhile labor of marriage here.  Where ever you might be in your relationship, I hope my words can be an encouragement to you.

My Wishes for His 39th Year

I miss writing.

Sometimes there is almost an ache for it.

I long to get words down, out of my head and heart, and sort of clear things out in there.

But by the time the evening rolls around, the only time of day when there is quiet and time enough to think and write, I still can't seem to get the writing done.

Two things hold me back: I'm just too tired, or that list of tasks that weren't completed during the day are calling my name, and I must answer.

Usually it's both.

The combination of keeping up with a very active toddler, and schooling 3 kids, fills my day.

There isn't room for much more.

It seems like every night now there is a pile of laundry sitting on the living room chair waiting to be folded after the kids go to bed.

The bathroom doesn't get cleaned very often.

We didn't get all our school work done.

My car is always a mess.

The leaves need to be raked.

I can't remember the last time I attempted to iron anything.

House projects are a distant dream.

Sometimes I feel like my entire life is half finished.

And that's on a good day!

On a bad day, it's not even half finished--it's just unfinished.

And so the stories stay in my head--a growing list.

At times a source of frustration because they are stuck there.

And other times I am able to rest in the knowledge that I am investing myself in the things that matter most, the things that are fleeting, and that this is just one of the seasons of my life.

But I won't lie and say it hasn't been a hard season.

This past year has stretched me, and many, many times, made me sigh or cry in frustration, "it never used to be like this!"

I know there are lessons to be learned from this time.

Like this one.

Still, I struggle.

What I live for though, is that moment in the day when I look at my children and my husband, and my heart becomes so full of love for them that my eyes overflow with it, and everything else is simply washed away.

The struggling ceases, if only for a moment, and I rest in this truth:

And that is why, on this day, my husband's 39th birthday, he is in Portugal.

That doesn't make a lick of sense, does it?

Hear me out.

We mothers often talk about our lack of "me" time.

How we need girls night out, a spa day, a craft weekend, or just a trip to Target all by ourselves.

We are giving all we have to everyone else-- kids, jobs, husbands, parents, charity, the home, the dog, the gym--that we don't have anything left for ourselves.

You know, we're not alone.

I often think of my husband, and how he struggles with the same feelings I do.

He leaves for work in the morning, maybe getting in a run or a short workout if he's lucky, and he's there all day.

He gets a half hour of sunshine and fresh air at lunch.

Unless he has to work through lunch at his desk.

When he gets home, he gets attacked by the kids.

He's glad to see them, but they immediately clamor for all of his attention and I am so glad that they're finally leaving me alone that I let them ask him for a million things at once while I hide in the kitchen to finish dinner.

We eat dinner, and it's nice to be together, but let's face it, it's not super relaxing.

There are 4 little people who are still learning the ways of proper dinner table etiquette, and the teaching  of it happens best at the table.

There are baths to be done, teeth to be brushed, maybe a wife who slips out for a work out.

He reads stories to the baby and puts him down.

Then the big kids want their stories, and a last push on the swing, or it's "Daddy will you play a little catch with me?", and "Daddy, will you draw with me?" and he says, "yes.  But it's almost bed time, so we have to hurry."

He puts them down, and they want to cuddle a bit and he falls asleep with them, or he sneaks out to the gym after I get home, and I fall asleep with them.

In the hour or two that remains of the night, he finds himself often in the state that I find myself: too tired to paint in his studio, or dealing with that pile of laundry that needs to be folded.

Because I fell asleep with the kids and he doesn't want me to have to face it again in the morning.

Sometimes a day goes by and we've hardly said more than hello.

And those are the nights without baseball, or cub scouts, or some other obligation.

Life is full.

He gives us his all.

And there isn't much left over for him.

Dads feel it too, not just us Moms.

That's why Aaron is in Europe.

What better way to start his 39th year than by having an adventure?

I prayed for this time for him, without knowing what it would be.

And then this opportunity presented itself--a hike on the Camino, and my Dad was going, and it all came together so fast.

Sometimes a good thing comes along, and you just have to go for it.

Adventure is out there!

And since you are far away, my love, with a pack on your back that can't be filled with heavy things, I give you this list of my wishes for you as you embark on your 39th year.

First, I wish for you a vision of what truly matters.

I wish for you the ability to see your world with enthusiasm.

I wish for you time outside.

I wish for you fun!

Happiest of birthdays, my Aaron!
I'm so happy you're starting this year off right.
Enjoy every moment.
I can't wait to see you.
I love you.
Love from,
Greta

*I know I totally hijacked this birthday post and kind of went crazy putting down a bunch of words that have been waiting to get out all these weeks.
And maybe in another 2 months I'll be back.
Fingers crossed.

*And if you like these inspiring quotes, you can find them, and many more, on my Pinterest board.  Go here.

Remembering This Moment: A Golden Afternoon at Balboa Park

I take pictures.

Of everything.

All day long.

And when I get the chance, I write about the things going on in those pictures.

With these pictures and words, I strive to capture the myriad of moments that make up my life.

I want to remember them--from the grandiose to the mundane.

This week I have been reminded afresh of the fragility of this life.

These moments we have together truly are treasures.

No, not all of them.

I don't subscribe to the idea that I should, or even can, treasure every moment.

Some of them I really won't miss.

But there are plenty that I will.

And so I snap away, I write things down in my head, and then here on this blog.

This little life of mine matters.

And so does yours.

Do your best to treasure the moments you are making with the ones you love.

This poem, one of my favorites, expresses it so much more eloquently than prose ever could.

The Coin

by Sara Teasdale

Into my heart's treasury

I slipped a coin

That time cannot take

Nor a thief purloin,--

Oh, better than the minting

Of a gold-crowned king

Is the safe-kept memory

Of a lovely thing

................................................................................................................................................................

Last week the kids and I drove to San Diego for the day.

We spent time visiting with my Dad's family, and seeing some of the spots from his childhood.

We had a wonderful time.

Before the long drive home, I decided to stop at Balboa Park and let the kids run around.

Nothing would be open--it was near 6 o clock--but none of us cared about that.

We're happy just exploring together, and drinking in beautiful things.

Entering Balboa Park on the Laurel Street Bridge is a nice way to begin.

We started at the Organ Pavillion.
I don't know.
I might be taking a few too many pictures.
The kids posed like this themselves and said, "hey Mom, take a picture of me."

Next up, a big, mosaic snake to climb on.
Oh how my kids do love to climb.

The Museum of Man was already closed, but that didn't stop us from enjoying the architecture.
"These buildings are so fancy!" Lilly said.

William took the camera for a while and took lots of blurry shots as we walked down the arched hallways.

When I was little, one of my favorite parts of Balboa Park was the Spanish Village Art Center.
I loved all the bright colors.
It felt like I had traveled to a far away land.
I still feel all those things.
I love this spot.

The sun began to set and its golden light enveloped us.
I looked at each one of them in turn, and my heart and eyes filled.
I thought how lucky I was to be spending these moments with my children.
They are happy just to walk around with their mommy: no agenda, no treats, no exciting events planned--just the simple joy of being together and seeing new things.
I told them, with tears in my eyes, that one day they would be all grown up, with families of their own, and we wouldn't have times like this anymore--just the 5 of us.
I said, "I love you so.  You are my favorites. And I love more than anything to be with you."
I knew that moment was a gift.

A golden afternoon indeed.

I'm doing my best to remember the magic of these simple, beautiful days.
Love from,
Greta
*There is more to Balboa Park than the Zoo! 
I added the links to the places we enjoyed at Balboa Park.  
There are so many more things to see and do there.  
Other things my kids have enjoyed are the Model Railway Museum, the Miniature Railroad, and the carousel (be sure to try for the brass ring!).
They are very much looking forward to going back and exploring some more museums, like the Natural History Museum, and the Air and Space Museum.
They've asked me several times now when we're going back to Balboa Park to explore more, so I know our short visit was a success.
Soon, kids, I promise!

Don't Judge Me Because I Like a Clean House

Have you noticed it is not very popular to be a mother of young children who likes to keep her house clean?

What I mean is this.

Anytime you confess that sometimes you just want to get the dishes done and put away the laundry, everyone and their brother will say something like this: "but the dishes will always be there.  Your kids won't."

Dun, dun, DUNNNNN.

Translation: if you choose to clean rather than be with your kids, you totally suck as a mom, and your kids will know that you don't value them, and in a short time when they grow up, you will all be in therapy as a result of your choosing to wash the dishes.

At least that is how it feels to me sometimes.

How many of us praise ourselves, or each other, because we ignored the dishes and read to the kids instead?

How many of us have Pintrested this saying, "A clean house is a sign of a wasted life," and have that saying haunting us every time we shoo our kids outside to play so we can scrub the tub?

Is this all there is?

A messy house = a good mom, and a clean house = a bad mom?

Can't we find a happy medium somewhere?

The truth is, I like my house clean.
OK, I love my house clean.
When my house is clean, my whole world feels peaceful, beautiful, and wonderful.
There is a sense of calm that I don't feel when there are toys strewn about, crumbs all over the floor, a dirty stove top, and dirty finger prints around every door way.
I have been this way since I was a very little girl, and loved cleaning my own room and those of my friends.
Does this mean that I have set sail on the course to waste my life and ruin the lives of my children?
I don't think so.

What it does mean, though, is that I strive to find balance in this area of my life nearly every day.
It means it is an area ripe for being challenged, and for those challenges to grow me as a person, a wife, and a mother.
It means some days I go into the laundry room and I kick the washer because I am so sick and tired of never, ever, getting caught up with the house work.
It means that some days I leave the house for a day of adventure with the kids, and I dread coming home to the disaster we left behind.
And I count it a victory that we left, rather than stay home to get caught up on the housework.
It means I don't let the desire for a clean house rule me, but I also don't pretend it's not there.

So I teach my kids the importance of putting things back in their place.
I teach them to wipe out the sink after they brush their teeth.
I teach them to put away their own laundry, and I don't worry so much that their drawers are a mess because #1, I can't see the mess when the drawers are closed, and # 2, they need to learn how to put their laundry away.
I tell them not to put their hands on the walls when they've been outside playing all day beacause their hands are filthy.
And then I point out the dirty handprints they just made, and have them wipe them off.
I can't do this alone.
Even when Aaron folds laundry nearly every night, and does the dishes when I say, "I'm too tired.  Just leave them for the morning."
Even then, I need more help.
They need to help.
Because, I like a clean house, I don't have a house keeper, and there are 6 of us living here.
But most of all, it's not helping them any if I try to do this all by myself.

Still.
I forget that sometimes.
Like today.
When I was in the living room doing school with the big boys and Lilly and Davy were in the kitchen having a tea party.

To me that meant a pretend tea party, with Lilly's small tea set.

This is what it meant to Lilly.

It meant she made all kinds of crumb making snacks for her and David to munch on, and step on, and spread throughout the house.
It means they emptied a couple drawers of everything to find other tea set pieces when she couldn't find her own.
It meant they played happily and peacefully while the boys and I read, and did math.
They had a blast.
But when I walked into that kitchen, my initial response was, "Lillian Catherine!  What did you do in here?"
And I was bummed out, and overwhelmed, and I wanted to kick the washer.

But then I looked at David.
And he was so cute and smiley that I had to take a picture.
I took a couple deep breaths.
I went outside to find Lilly, and nicely asked her to come in and clean the kitchen floor up.
She happily complied, and then showed David how to pick everything up and put it away.
He was pleased as punch to help.
And she was pleased as punch to show him how.
When they were done, she turned to me with a big smile, "Mommy!  Can you believe how fast we cleaned that up?  Davy is learning how to be a good helper, isn't he?"

That's when the truth of that annoying saying hit me.
If I had just cleaned the mess up myself, muttering under my breath and slamming cabinets along the way, it would have been a total waste.
Instead, Lilly and Davy experienced the joy of helping and being useful.
They practiced responsibility.
And I felt a real weight lift off my shoulders when I saw the mess in my kitchen get cleaned up, even just a little bit.
It was a pretty sweet moment.

I'm not saying that I always respond this way.
There are plenty of muttering under the breath moments.
Just ask my kids.
I'm sure they'll grow up with plenty of stories about mom and her crazy, house cleaning rampages.
But I also hope they'll remember these other moments.
The moments when I gather them in my arms, and squeeze them, and say, "thank you for being such good helpers.  You make my whole world brighter.  I love you."

All day long I am given the opportunity to choose my attitude, choose my perspective, and choose my response.
Here is what I'm aiming for: this and this.
And to get those dishes done.

From one clean loving mama to all the others I know are out there--you aren't alone.
Love from,
Greta

Anatomy of a Bath--When the Children Are About

I ran my very first race today.

It was a 10K.

I am pretty stoked about the whole thing.

But more on that later.

After the race, there were 2 baseball games to watch, a house to tidy up, lunches to make, a baby to put down for a nap, and race pictures to look for online.

My legs, and especially knees, were sore, sore, sore!

The new Sunset magazine had just arrived in the mail.

Davy was asleep.

The big kids were all happily playing amongst themselves.

It seemed like the perfect time for a bath.

I love baths.
Don't you?
My mom passed on some wonderful things to my siblings and I.
Because of her, we are all readers.
We all cook and love good, real  food. (Except that my sister has been known to eat Hamburger Helper and like it.  We don't know what that is about)
She also passed on the appreciation of a good soak in the tub.
Growing up, I can remember her reading in the tub.
As soon as I could read in the tub, I did too.
My younger brother used to do his homework in the tub.
And for the 8 years that Aaron and I lived in our 100 year old beach bungalow, we only too baths.
Our house was so old it didn't have a shower.
That was best bathtub ever.
It was so big that when my 3 year old nephew came over the first time he said, "wow!  You have a pool in your bathroom!"
I loved soaking for a long time in that tub every day.

But I don't take baths very often anymore.
Especially not in the middle of the afternoon.
But today was a special occasion.
I made myself a cup of tea, got my magazine, told the big kids I'd be in the tub, and to be quiet because if they woke up their baby brother they'd be dead meat.
And then I went in to have a bath.

Here's what happened.
I pull back the shower curtain.
I immediately wish I had cleaned the tub the day before when I cleaned the rest of the bathroom.
Lesson learned on doing only half the job.
I pour my bath, step in, and sink into the hotness.
As soon as I am submerged, David wakes up.
I get out.
I dry off.
I sit on the couch, in a towel, and hold David for 10 minutes, because he always wants to be cuddled after he wakes up from his nap.
He finally feels like getting down, and runs off to play.
I get back in the tub.
My tea is cold.
My bath is cold.
I run more hot water to warm it up, and think, "forget about the tea."
David comes in and says, "bath, bath, bath, bath, bath, bath, bath," at least 20 times, and tries to get in the tub.
I finally get him to leave by telling him he can play with his bath toys in his bedroom.
Lilly walks in. 
"I want a girl Lego head but James has the only one, and he won't give it to me."
James yells from the living room, "Moooooom, she has more girl heads in her Lego box, she just doesn't want to go out to the Lego studio to get them.  And I already made this Lego girl for the set I am building."
Me to Lilly, "go outside to the Lego studio and find a girl head from your box."
Lilly walks out.
William walks in, "Mom, do you know where the instructions are for my new Lego set?"
Me, "I don't know.  Where did you use them last?"
William, "oh yeah...I think they're on the kitchen table."
William walks out.
Davy walks in with a box of graham crackers.
He hands me the box and says, "ma?"
I open the box, give him a cracker, give him the box, and tell him to put it back in the kitchen.
Davy walks out.
William walks back in.
"I found it, Mom.  I have to pee."
William pees.
William washes his hands and leaves.
James walks in. 
"Hey Mom, where's Dad?"
Me, "at the gym.  What do you need?"
James, "it's just that I want to build a really huge Lego set, but I want to build it with Dad.  And I don't know where all the pieces are that I need."
Me, "well, if you guys would just put the pieces back where they belong instead of leaving them all over the ground, you might be able to find them more easily.  But I'll help you look for them when I get done with my bath."
James walks out.
Lilly walks in.
"Mom, can I have an egg?"
Me, "after I get out of the tub."
Lilly walks out.
I pick up my magazine and read the advertisement on the first page.
David screams.
I yell, "what's wrong with David?"
James yells back, "he just wants the Lego pieces that are too small for him to have."
I scan the table of contents.
David walks in.
He throws his boat into the bath, which splashes my magazine and my glasses.
I say, "no David!  This is Mommy's bath!"
He walks out.
I take off my glasses, put down my magazine, and get out of the tub.
And that is why I don't take baths in the middle of the day.

Hope your Sunday is more relaxing than my bath was!
Love from,
Greta

PS. And in case you want to comment about all the things I could do to make sure I don't have so many interruptions, I'll just answer them for you ahead of time.
1. Yes, they could have watched something on tv, but they had already reached their weekend tv viewing limit and I am trying very hard to stick to the limits we created.
2. Yes, I could lock the door, but they would still come to the door and ask me stuff in loud voices.  Also, I don't like being in the bath with the door locked when David is awake.  I feel like I am at least kind of keeping an eye on him if he can wander in and out of the bathroom. I know, slacker mom.
3.  Yes, I could say, "don't come in here unless there is fire, blood, or poop."
But then someone would have to come in and poop and that is a total bummer when I am trying to take a bath.
4.  Yes, I can accept that this the stage of motherhood I am in right now, and I can laugh about it, and write it down so I will remember it many years later when my kids are not coming in to have discussions with me about Legos as I lay in the tub, drinking a cup of cold tea, and trying to read a magazine.