leopard print toddlers

I was packing for our trip this week when I realized that it was a) awfully quiet in the house and b) I wasn't quite sure where RE was. This is rarely a good thing.

I ran all over the house (took all of 10 seconds), and found her sitting in the vanity, playing under the sink (she sorted out how to use the TotLocs ages ago). What fun, fabulous, fantastic thing did she find under the counter? Toothpaste? Lipgloss? Eye Shadow? Nail Polish? Nope.

Self-Tanning Lotion. Not the gradual kind. The hard core, turn you orange if you're not careful kind. The kind mommy waters down with regular lotion before using. Sh!t.

And yep, that's what I uttered. Sh!t. As I stripped her top off, set her up at the sink, and proceeded to scrub (not very gently, I may add), at her face, hoping upon hope that I would not have to take a leopard print toddler to the airport tomorrow. Daddy and I had a really good laugh as we encouraged RE to play in the water, and with the soap.

All is good...no crazy orange stripes. Mommy's slightly neurotic cleaning has finally paid off.

And speaking of airports, RE is VERY excited to "go airfart and visit nonnapapasadie in Cayifona."

Our trip to Cayifona on an airfart is going to rock.

Oh, and today is our 4th Anniversary. Hooray for us.
According to About.com, you should buy us flowers, linen/silk, and send us to Hawaii. We'll be waiting. You all have our address.

Work

RE was asking today where daddy was. The conversation went something like this:
Where daddy?
He's at work, Bug.
Oh.
Mommy?
Yeah?
YOU go work, daddy stay home.

Uh, I do work. A lot. Does it really appear that I don't? Could I really work harder than I do? I doubt it.

But, when I was gone for a while tonight, she told daddy that she missed me. Cool. Redeemed.

Seven

When you don't have kids, 7pm is early. 7 means it's time to eat dinner, go out for drinks, or start pre-funking for your night out. 7 is just getting off work, or just getting home from traffic. 7, especially in the summer, is barbeques, beer, and burgers (and boys). 7 might mean a lap around Green Lake, or hitting UVillage. 7 is that magical dusk-y time of night; not quite day anymore, but not night yet either. Liminal. And there is such beauty in that liminality...that in-between time of not quite this but not quite that.

Sometimes I feel like my life is constantly in that in-between time. In-between parent and child. Working and stay at home. Employee and owner. Student and teacher. Busy and breakdown. But I don't always feel like my life is beautiful. Sometimes, it gets rather messy, rather tiring, and rather frustrating.

7pm now is tubby, jammies and stories. 7 is bedtime, snuggle time, cuddle time. On occasion, 7 is going out with friends time, shopping time. More often, it's email time, work time, wine time. In some senses, it's the beginning of the night, but it's just not the same kind of beginning. Whereas 7 used to hold the promise of an entertaining evening, more often these days, it holds a different promise, a quieter one, of time spent getting things done, which sometimes, can be quite satisfying.