This is the weirdest day of the holiday weekend. If it's not a day of arrivals, and it's not a day of grocery shopping, it's merely a day of waiting. And it's not like a Jewish holiday, which starts the night before thus giving the day a special designation (erev Thanksgiving just doesn't sound hebraic, does it?). Instead it just sits here, waiting for something to happen.
The Cuters slept in, TBG spent the morning in the gym, and I took a totally unexpected nap on the couch from 8 til 10am. Satisfied the Big Cuter's craving for a chicken fajita burrito at Chipotle while drinking a Coke and smiling at the adult version of my little boy. Went for a fancier lunch with the Little Cuter and TBG, and watched the two of them hold their head at the same angle as they perused their exact same sandwiches. Met with the roofer and the exterior lighting guys and read Anne Perry in the sunshine. All four of us drove back to the gym this afternoon, and now we're trying to decide what to have for dinner.
If the kids lived nearby, there would be nothing unusual about this day. But because they've traveled and packed and are now visitors instead of inhabitants I feel like there should be more made of the fact that they are here. But they're happy to just be and my predilection to assume the role of social director is stymied. I've got Mommy-guilt to the max; I feel like we ought to be doing something.
And we're not. And everyone is content.
I suppose that I should just let it go and relax....... but I'm a MOM........ I've not mastered that particular skill just yet.