….and this was just from today.

This evening, for example, Savannah requested her favorite meal, corn dogs and fruit, which she ate at 5:45 while the rest of us milled around the kitchen. At 6:00, John joined her with re-heated roast beef and roasted potatoes (delivered by the MIL this past weekend; I can take no credit). Around the same time, Abby was dining on Quaker oatmeal and cinnamon toast — and this is where I feel we crossed a line — up in her bedroom, on her favorite blue tray, while watching a movie. Around 7:00, Claire finally wrapped up her evening tantrum and sat down to eat a hot dog with cheese and crackers. Finally, at 7:30, I heated up my own meal, two chilitos from Skyline and a Diet Mt. Dew (the nutritional anti-Christ), while checking emails.

You think THAT’S bad? Just wait ’till dessert.

How dare I bring Savannah a sippy cup of juice in front of all her friends? DUH, Mom. Once you graduate first grade, lids with spouts are laughable. And when I hollered out the front door that she only had five more minutes till bathtime, I got the dagger eyes as she sped off on her bike. Later, she explained in her world-weary tone that only BABIES take baths. Seven-year-olds shower, or at least pretend to. Oh, and vitamins! How dare I remind Sav to take hers in front of her BFF?! Even those yummy gummy ones are now decidedly uncool.

I have so much to learn. I take comfort in the fact that my parents humiliated me on a daily basis. Like when my dad used to pull up outside the mall to pick us up in his boat-sized white El Camino, jumping up and down and waving with a big goofy grin, for the sole purpose of embarrassing us. I lived through it, and so will Sav.

Riding behind them, watching Savannah’s zealous, half-standing pedal and Abby’s yellow skirt billowing in the balmy wind, I felt that little jolt that comes when I am mindful, living in the moment, not racing from one task to the next but just allowing myself to enjoy the here and now. Admittedly, those moments are few and far between – but I’m working on making more of them, and appreciating and savoring them when they do happen. And let me tell you, cruising around the lake, hearing Abby’s sweet little-girl voice cry out “This is the best day ever!” was tons more rewarding than finishing that article.

Later, when the girls were having popcorn in the family room, I was in the midst of a packing frenzy (preparing for the move in 3.5 weeks) when Claire asked me to help her with her new Phineas & Ferb puzzle. My stock answer came automatically: “I’m not that good at puzzles; ask Daddy.” But John was busy sticking frozen corn down his pants (that’s another story), so Claire gave up trying to find a puzzle partner. “No,” I told myself. “The packing can wait.” I took a 10-minute break to sit next to Claire on the couch and work on the puzzle, letting her stick in every 3rd or 4th piece, until we completed it and exchanged a high-five. As she proudly showed her sisters and Daddy the finished product, I returned to my packing with a lighter heart.

Live in the moment. Not every moment. Maybe not even every hour. But at least a few times a day.

Claire was the first to discover my bold move. Jiggling the knob, she hollered “Mommy mommy mommy! The door is broke.” Next came Abby, who also tried the knob and explained to Claire — sounding quite bewildered herself — that “Mommy made it that way”. Savannah, although the oldest, was the most traumatized by this development, shrieking and pounding on the door as if I’d just shoved her outside, naked, in the middle of a snowstorm. By the time I let them in, their hollering had turned hysterical and my blood pressure had skyrocketed.

“What!?” I demanded, dripping wet and thoroughly ticked. “What do you need?”

The three of them looked at each other, swiping at snotty noses with sleeves and hiccuping as the sobs died down. “The door was broke,” Claire repeated. There was no emergency, no pressing need. Not even a stolen toy. Just the shock of finding Mommy behind a locked door.

Lesson learned: The closer they can get, the better chance they’ll want the opposite. Next shower, we’re back to the open-door policy.