Post office woes

I remember one time, before I had Benjamin, I overheard a couple of young women in the checkout line at Target. There was a baby a few aisles over who was crying and his mother was trying to comfort him. She was unable to quiet him, but it really was not a disruption to my shopping trip. The girls behind me, however, complained , "Why would you bring a baby to Target". So ridiculous. It's not like the child was throwing a full-fledged tantrum or like the mother was doing nothing about it. I remember thinking that there just might come a day when those girls have a 3 month old child who cries at the store or the restaurant or the auto shop. Well, I hope those girls weren't at the post office the other day because if they were they would have had plenty to mumble about.

If you have been to the post office at any point the week prior to Christmas, you know that there are long lines and perhaps a few crabby people. I usually try to avoid such places when I'm lugging around my bundle of energy and squeals, but this week I could not, at least not if I wanted our mail to get delivered in time for Christmas. Benjamin is such a good, happy little boy that sometimes I try to get by with doing things like taking him to a busy post office right before his nap time. Every once in a while I'm reminded that even good little boys have their limits. Here's how it went down....I hauled Ben out of the car, carrying him and pushing the stroller which I planned to set him in once we got inside from the cold. We managed to make our way through the doors and the lines were crazy, of course. I promptly set down my bag and packages and put Benjamin in his stroller....well I tried to put him in his stroller. He did that thing that toddlers do when they don't want to sit, or lay, or stand up for you. You know. The thing where they screech, arch their back, throw their arms directly above their heads and become dead weight. That thing. I tried again. He arched again. The line moved. I picked up my things, moved the stroller and followed our place in line. I gave him a toy and tried to set him in the stroller again. Same thing. Line moved. We moved. I gave him a snack and tried again. Well, you know what he did. By this point I was sweating in my down coat and we had collected a bit of an audience. I'm sure some people were chuckling and some were rolling their eyes. I would normally remove my cranky kid from situations like this, but hello, Christmas packages will not be delivered before Christmas if they are not sent before Christmas. So I held Ben....all 24 pounds of him. I held him, stood in line forever, pushed the stroller around, operated the post office kiosk and fed Benjamin snacks with my free hand. By the time we were finished it was nap time for both of us. Not my easiest errand of the week, but I prevailed and got a bit of a workout. I hope our audience was amused.

Most wonderful time of the year.

 

Benjamin spends time each day "reading" Christmas cards

I love, love, love Christmastime. I love the snow (even though we haven't had much of that this year). I love the sweets, the pretty paper, the lights, giving gifts and spending time with family and friends. I love watching Benjamin gaze at the Christmas tree in wonder and pour over our basket of Christmas cards. And I love that the reason that we participate in all of our Christmas traditions is to celebrate that unto us a Savior was born. I just want to sing my little heart out every time a hear a carol that tells of the birth of Jesus. There is joy in my heart as I think about the gift God has given to us....the most wonderful gift that I have ever received.

Merry Christmas!

Shortcuts are not always shortcuts.

I have had a little bit more going on this week than I typically do with a handful of sub jobs and several other obligations. As a result I got a little behind on my house work and have been trying to play catch up the past couple of days. I seriously don't know how working moms keep up with everything on a regular basis. Anyway, I usually wait until Benjamin is sleeping to take care of some jobs like cleaning the bathroom or the floors, but when I realized that he was completely enthralled with depositing Cheerios into a bowl, dumping them on his tray, depositing and dumping over and over again, I decided to take advantage of the fact that he was confined to his chair by sweeping and mopping the house....it's been driving me crazy.

He was such a little sweetheart and playing so nicely while I swept and mopped the kitchen and bathroom and dining/living room that I decided I would just finish the job by taking care of the stairs and entry way too. When I got there I realized that the sack of diapers I meant to throw away was still sitting on the steps but I didn't want to trod down the steps to throw it away because Benjamin was starting to get a little restless in his highchair. I determined that the most efficient way to finish my cleaning and take care of the diapers at the same time would be to drop the sack over the stair railing. I tossed the bag over the edge. POP! Oops. Oh well. The bag was headed for the trash outside anyway and I was saving at least 60 seconds. I figured the sack had just popped a bit and I wasn't too concerned about it. I continued to make my way down the stairs, quickly sweeping as I talked to Benjamin who continued to play with his bowl 'o Cheerios, although he was getting antsy. It wasn't until I got to the landing and turned the corner that I realized the pop was not the result of a hole in the diaper sack as much as it was diaper explosion. No time saved here. The bag had burst open completely and there were diapers everywhere. I'll spare you the disgusting details, but I will say it's a good thing I planned on mopping.

I used to tell my students who tried to take shortcuts on their work only to have to do it all over again that they should make an effort to do their best the first time around because they really weren't saving any time in the long run. Guess I should heed my own advice, even if it is over a dirty sack of diapers.