(When you're having a holiday meal at your vegetarian friends' house and G starts being twoish and you say: G. You need to eat. Do you want this or this? and he yells across the table I no want to eat this! I want TO EAT MEAT!, well, that's just an example of things that could happen. I'm not saying they did. Maybe.)
Our particular three children are not known for their flexibility, a trait that elevates the excitement inherent in the risk that comes with messing with their lives in any way. Overall we did great through
-two consecutive post-10:30pm bedtimes;
-one fever (E);
-one fever-cancelled post-synagogue playdate;
-one cross-dressing (in a fuschia floor-length dress) dinner with the rabbi (G):
-and a spectacular bleeding injury/streaking the quad double twist (L).
But as late as this evening, after missed naps and late nights and long mornings and everything else that comes with holidays or any change, they were still playing together so nicely that I took an internal moment to note it. The house had its holiday quiet: no tv or music or iPads or Wii; just giggles of varying volumes and happy chatter. We have such good kids, I thought, and kept reading, enjoying them enjoying their company and enjoying my relative solitude on a couch in another room.
A bit later, G climbed up in my lap for some attention. I reached for his curls, because I always reach for his curls. He pushed my hand away because he's a tiger and didn't want affectionate play; he wanted to roar as I threw him up in the air. But I reached again, because...what was that?
G and L had been making up a story and she decided to illustrate it on his face. And he...let her? It's G wearing a birthday hat!, L explained. Because we were playing birthday party! We were making cake!
Because cake is the perfect beginning to a sweet new year, right?