I’m currently mid flights right now, the shortest flight under my belt and the first learned travel lesson behind me. I brought an eye pillow, dabbed a little eucalyptus oil on it, tipped my head back on the flight and assumed the passed out traveler position while thinking to myself, “Best. Idea. Ever.” Let’s just jump to the punch line: Easy on the eucalyptus oil around the eyes, okay? You’d think I’d know this from the bathtub incident.

Speaking of incidents (news anchor transition), let’s take it back a few days where (insert dramatic super serious news anchor voice): a tumble off the bed rendered a scary evening.

Fact is, our little incident wasn’t fun but also wasn’t near as dramatic as a news anchor would spin it. And by news anchor, I mean myself two seconds after Nella fell off the bed and cracked her head open. Like many other “if this ever happened” scenarios I’ve played out in my head, the scary-but-not-life-threatening-child-injury scenario always has my imaginary self as this amazingly calm and comforting rock in crisis, unruffled by the scene, focused on the important tasks and speaking calming affirmations that could later be printed in What to Say to Your Children During a Crisis how-to guides which apparently will not be part of my next book. There’s that girl, and then there’s what I actually did. Which was see a pool of blood and freak the freak out. I kissed, I rocked, I summoned the most assuring “It’s okay baby” I had, but I also spoke in threes, sending an already concerned big sister into panic mode.

Like:
She’s bleeding, she’s bleeding, she’s bleeding. 
Get my phone, get my phone, get my phone. 
We have to go to the hospital. We have to go to the hospital. We have to go to the hospital.

Listen, my fight or flight mode got jacked, but reflection’s given me some what-not-to-do pointers.
Three head staples later (which, by the way, I assumed was hospital lingo for some head-friendly not-really-staples wound fixers, but no—they’re staples—like, construction grade staples contractors use on 2×4’s), our ridiculously resilient tough cookie was chasing Dash around the kitchen island (“Stop running! We don’t need another injury!”) and galloping a stick horse down the hallway.

I made it 3 kids and 7 years of parenting without an ER visit, but I gotta tell ya, I was getting a little nervous wondering what that first ER trip would look like when it happened. Let’s just get it over with. And we did. And three staples is better than a broken arm.

Later that night after high-fiving Frankenstein for her bravery and impressive new head accessories and putting her to bed , I followed up with Lainey to talk to her about what happened.

“I was worried,” I admitted, “but everything turned out fine. I’m sorry if I made you more worried. Mommy’s going to try and breathe and be calmer next time. That was a little scary, wasn’t it?”

She showed me the drawing she made while we were gone—a picture of her and Nella playing together. I folded it and slipped it into Nella’s keepsake book, a reminder of that one time we survived. One of many.

In the meantime, I’ll work on my fight or flight skills.

Speaking of flight (said the news anchor transitioning to the next story)…

My gate’s boarding.

Catch you in Rwanda.

We went to the mall yesterday.

For some reason, I feel like that sentence needs to stand alone. I’m not terribly fond of malls. I worked at a mall for years when I was homeschooled, and my weekly dose of The World then (proper noun for all that is ungodly and burning to the ground after the rapture) came from Seventeen magazine and whatever was happening in the halls of Genesee Valley Mall. There’s a small chunk of my life characterized by Auntie Anne pretzels, spritzing perfume at Hudson’s on my lunch break and inhaling the brain-programming scent I’m convinced Abercrombie pumps through their air vents–the stuff that makes you want to buy too-tight clothes and make out with cute guys. I did neither. But I wanted to. I don’t know what it is about malls now, but they make me feel a little claustrophobic.

So when Lainey wanted to go to the mall to ride the carousel horse yesterday, I convinced myself that at least it’s air-conditioned, we have an H&M now, and I’m a grown woman who’s built up immunities against the evils of the Abercrombie fumes.

I forgot how cool the mall can actually be when you’re a kid.
But yesterday, I remembered.

The pet store was a hit.

And the giant ride-on animals.

And the $3 balloon dogs I have to thank for my deepened smile lines. You would have thought I gave Nella a real puppy.

In the spirit of balloon dogs and mall pet stores…more little things enjoyed this past weekend:

Okay, one big thing..
Brett turned 50.
And today we celebrate eight years together.

We had a friend bash Saturday night…

And a family huddle Sunday night.

He gets a trilogy of holidays in one month–Father’s Day, birthday, anniversary. So he’s loved up real good come July.

More random happies…

Little bugs.

Rain dances.
And temporary tattoos that are never washing off. Ever.

New projects.
I finished a wallpaper project this weekend as part of our musical rooms adventure. The girls are moving in together, and Dash is getting his own room. I’ll post the finished rooms when they’re all done, but I have two things to say about our new *cough*fake*cough* brick wall. A: I love it. And B: Those YouTube wallpaper tutorial people who smile through pasting and smoothing and lining up edges, talking about how easy it is? I hate them. In all fairness, the first half was awful, but once you get a rhythm going, it gets easier.

Swishing.
She loves watching the bottom of her dresses swish while she runs. So much we have to remind her to look up. Sister gets a little distracted enjoying the small things.

Fixin’ Stuff.
If you’re looking for a good mechanic in Collier County, Dash will be opening his garage soon. Still working on a slogan, but in the running is: “If it’s broken, he’ll try to fix it. And if it’s not broken, it will be when he’s done with it.”

Hand holding (she forced him, but still…cute, eh?)

Trike practice.
He’s already a hard core biker with his “get your hands off my bike” attitude.

Hair stylist.
She invents new styles and does them herself every day.

(shirt from The Measure)

Boat watching and shell shopping.

He’s practicing his mall walk.

(Bill Murray tee, Passive Juice Motel)

Hope ya’ll are finding lots to enjoy this week!

******

Over at eHow this week, sharing 10 ways to celebrate July 4th with your family–without leaving the house.

When I was young, my favorite thing to do was play House—a general label for a game that meant nothing more than pretending to be grown up.  It was all I ever wanted—to be older and have a house and babies and do mom-ish things like change diapers and make dinner and throw a purse over my shoulder while I said something very adult-ish like, “Hey everybody, I’m going to the store!” I loved playing House so much that I hid it well past the approved age when one should admit they play House. In fact, I’m pretty sure I smoked my first two cigarettes under the bleachers at a Montrose High School football game when I was the visiting homeschooled sixth grader who went home to play House later that evening.

It’s kind of weird to be living the life I played for so long. And to think that I considered patting a doll to sleep,  hauling my purse to the store and saying “Oh, honey” a lot pretty much covered being a mom. I certainly left out the hard parts. And, by doing so, left out the most beautiful.

There are lots of days when I still feel like I’m playing house. Moments where—don’t blink!—everything lines up and we are that family I pretended to be. Kids going to ballet and babies smiling in photos and “Hi honey, I’m home” blurted from the laundry room and “Hey everybody, I’m going to the store!” uttered from the kitchen and all those things I thought would make me a grown-up played out just like I planned. Paying with coupons and giving my kids baths and cutting fresh herbs and kissing my husband before he walks out the door and having in-laws and planning birthday parties and checking the mail to find things that prove I’m a real life mom who’s playing real life House—like voter’s registration forms and mattress sales and bills from the pediatric dentist.

But here we are and life is so much more complicated and beautiful and richer and challenging and rewarding and gut-wrenching than I could have ever imagined it would be when I was swaddling that doll daughter named Lexi or pretending to make an appointment for her parent teacher conference or even writing dream baby names down in notebooks after I kissed House goodbye and at least balanced my someday life with realistic efforts like college classes and a part time job that didn’t involve babysitting.

We went out to eat last night, and it went very unlike the episodes I played out in old House days. We forgot the big U.S. vs. Portugal World Cup game was going on and consequently drove up to a few parking lots, ran in to check booth availability and left defeated. We ended up finding a fun sports bar, dragged the kids in and smiled through the first thirty minutes because we were so awesome at playing House. Reality kicked in and by the end of the night we were consoling toddlers rattled by all the noisy cheering, cleaning cracker crumbs from the booth and laughing at how much work a night out ended up entailing.

We came home with leftover boxes and transferred sleeping babies still in their clothes to cribs and beds.

I never worried about the dolls I carried while playing House as a kid. I never prayed for them or contemplated my choices about them. I never kissed the bridges of their noses or whispered in their ear about how much I loved them after they were asleep. I never cried over my House family.

Tonight, I put three kids to sleep, saying separate prayers for each. I listened to them breathe for a minute, watched their chest rise up and down, whispered things in their ears. I straightened all my week’s priorities out and finally retreated to my desk. Above it, the B & K metal  letters are a little knocked off their nails so that they’re crooked. But they’re hanging in there, and there’s a sturdy wall behind them.

This is what a game of real House looks like. Many exhausted, ironic, beautiful moments

I like real House.

**********

Weekend enjoying:

Our grown-up girl.

Pier Dates 

Watching her proudly do her own hair every day.


The new obsession in our home: mice cat toys


I mean, the little dinner table and the real cheese. The mice are playing House!


Afternoon sunlight through dirty windows and the Dora watering can.

Happy Monday.

************

This week, I’m over at eHow talking about Sanity-Saving Ways to Survive the Witching Hour. Dude. Every day: “Sometimes, when I’m feeling a little crazy and one mess away from snapping, I actually let myself snap–appropriately. Kid of like a ‘controlled burn’ that forest rangers initiate to keep the whole forest from going up in flames.”