Ukraine Adoption

In the quiet of the night

Tara is tucked in bed, at last. I took today off to get some things done, but in the afternoon after pre-school, we rode bikes through the puddles at the park, picked up some dinner at Boston Market, watched a movie, she took a shower, I read her a story, I rubbed her back in the dark. While she was in school, I took Austin to a matinee. We were the only two people in the show, but we still whispered.

I was going to say that I can't believe I haven't even had a few minutes this week to update this blog. But just the last few hours are pretty indicative of how the whole week has gone by. It seems like some activity filled every waking moment.

I told John last week when I was hiding Easter eggs in the pool table pockets in the family room, like I do every year, that holidays are very important in our lives, even if they seem repetitive. They are the landmarks of time, they help us remember. Where were you Feb. 5? Ok, where were you on Easter Sunday? Or Hannukah? See what I mean?

But then what about those days that aren't big celebrations but are just as important? And how can we make sure we remember them too?

In the quiet of the night, that's when I really catch my breath. We watch our favorite shows and snack on ice cream or fruit. John and I try to have private TV time, when the kids are asleep or at least pretending to be. It is then, at the end of the routine days, that I remember the things Tara did or Austin said. Or the way they make each other laugh so hard. Or cry. Or scream. But always laugh again. Nothing amazing about these last few days, really, just remembering the sounds of Tara squealing when she flew through a deep puddle on her bike, or screaming when she got stuck in the mud. I remember being alone with in the movie theater with Austin, chuckling in the dark, sipping his frozen Pepsi.

Aren't these the times that we want to remember most?