This morning I woke up in need. It was one of those Sundays that called for a crispy Belgian brown wonder, dripping with butter and warm syrup. You know, a waffle kind of morning. I rolled over and asked Greyson as sweetly as I could to be taken out for breakfast. Denied. As our tot bounced between us asking for iPhone videos and saying “I’m hungry!” I thought, “Hmm…I can be an amazing mother and get my waffle fix.”

“I’ll cook!” I announced, feet hitting the floor.

As I warmed up the waffle maker and measured out the mix I thought, “Eggs. We need eggs too.” We had some grocery store brand Egg Beater-like carton eggs. Greyson checked the expiration date. October. Score. I found a smaller carton with a  late August expiration. I cooked them up anyway. Mistake. They looked funny. I tossed them. I cooked the October carton. Eh. Still looked a little off but no biggie. October date. We’re good. I was even short cooking spray and the waffles still cooked perfectly and came off the iron evenly. Greyson said to Charlotte, “Isn’t your Mama great!? It was so nice of her to cook breakfast for us.” I thought with great pride, “It is great of me. I am a good mother!” 

Charlotte has been doing this thing lately where she puts food in her mouth, chews and then decides she no longer likes it and wants to spit it out. This happened after she took a bite of the eggs she begged for. Greyson is very perturbed by this quirk and told her, “No! You will swallow what’s in your mouth!” She cried and protested while keeping the half-masticated eggs in her mouth. Greyson said, “Fine! Time out! You will sit in Time Out until you swallow your eggs!” I thought, “Ugh! I hate doing that, but we need to make sure she’s eating what’s on her plate. We need to teach her that. We’re doing right by her as parents.”

Her wimpers subsided and I scooped some eggs on my plate as well. I took a bite. “Oh God! Ugh! Greyson, have you tried these? Charlotte! You can come out of Time-Out. These are bad.” Greyson said, “Oh, Charlotte! Come here, you can spit them out.”

Our bewildered, sniffling child spit her rancid eggs into the napkin I held to her face. She looked at us with tear-filled, confused eyes. Thankfully she seemed only a bit resentful. We apologized profusely and tried to explain when food tastes “funny” or “bad” she can tell us and spit it out.

Now I’m wondering how often anything will taste “funny.” As if punishing himself, Greyson took a bite too, before spitting them out. We bought the name brand carton eggs today, thinking that $1.50 could save us from further parental failures. Okay, I’m not the fantastic waffle-making mother I’d like to be. Sometimes I’m one bad egg in a pair of imperfect parents.

It seems stupid, but lately it has amazed me that there are the exact same number of seconds in each day. Time is so relative, so precious. The evidence is right here on my blog. My life has been so busy that this space has been neglected in recent weeks after I saved it from near death.

Some days I collapse in the bed with knots in my back, knowing I can’t get everything done I need to do in 24 hours. Work, house, parenting, being a spouse, being a friend and writing a blog. It never gets all done.

The relevance of time was never so apparent to me than when I was recently talking to a stay-at-home mom who’s child will start kindergarten in a few months. We were discussing the start of school and where her child would be attending. She said, “It is just SUCH a long day for them!” (meaning the kids)

::blink::

I just stared at her.

Huh? Long day? I nervously laughed an said, “Um, yeah. Sometimes Charlotte gets to daycare at 7:15am or 7:30am and I can’t pick her up until almost 6:00pm.” My voice was filled with guilt mixed with bitterness toward her comment. Both of which were uncalled for. She meant nothing by her comment. It was my own insecurities coming out.

This was the class sign in sheet one day this week:

A few days before I was driving by an elementary school on my way to a client meeting. It was about 3:00pm when school let out. I thought about the future, “God, what are my kids going to do after school until we’re done with work? That’s a long time.”  See, time is relative.

It’s hard working and parenting. It’s also hard being with a little one all day. That’s not news to anyone. Her comment just caught me off guard. She went on to talk about how she needed some “down time” from her responsibilities at home.

Huh? I guess I think of my “down time” as the few hours I get to bathe, feed and play with my child. Then I get to sneak in some husband time and personal time.

Here’s the thing. I don’t know which one is better, working or being at home. It’s all about time. I just hope we all get the precious time we need.

We’re learning which lightswitch turns the light out and which one grinds up our food scraps. I’ve discovered drawers in the bathroom to stash extra shampoo and the best way to load this dishwasher. We’re going to be naked if the new washer/dryer doesn’t arrive as scheduled on Tuesday. Despite this house being about as “move-in ready” as a house can be, my couches clash with the accent wall in the living room and we spent more than expected changing the locks at Lowe’s. But, I mean, show me someone who doesn’t spend more than they plan to at freakin’ Lowe’s.

I’m having trouble looking away from Pinterest’s endless “Home Decor” category. I guess I’m a glutton for punishment who needs Pinterest to remind me of how much work I have to do and how woefully inadequate my decorating skills are. Yes! I get it Pinterest! Everything at West Elm is amazing, but $45 for a throw pillow is a little more than I want to spend right now.

In other words, we’re settling in.

I have to say, despite the boxes and misplaced serving bowl, it already feels like home. Tonight Charlotte and I built a tower higher than we’ve ever made. I was so proud of her matching the colors of her blocks and her telling me about the animals on each one of them. We’re already making memories.

I’m sitting with my feet up in my new living room with boxes scattered around and my darling husband talking to the TV about NFL draft picks. I’m deliriously tired and deliriously happy.  We almost didn’t get to move in because of idiot underwriters’ contract mistakes and slow bank workers, but we’re here.  This week I’ve felt stretched very thin between demands at work and the demands of moving, but we made it.  I keep looking around in disbelief that we are finally here.

We cried when we left the old house for the last time thinking of all the memories in that house.  It’s funny, just a few days later it feels right to be here. Let the new memories begin…

I recorded this video the night of March 5, the night I found out I was pregnant.  After I took a pregnancy test I ran to the store to buy Charlotte a Big Sister shirt to show daddy  You can see the rest.

I love everything about this video.  I love my husband’s befuddled look, his messy curls and that old Han Solo t-shirt.  I love that he doesn’t act disgusted even though I’m handing him something I just peed on.  He’s the kind of guy you have babies with.