Sunday: smoothies and toast, groceries and the park.
A nice, simple day, and if I'm lucky, I get to nap too.
The kids and I love our local grocery store. The days that they're super-good, they get to go to the child minding upstairs at the gym, and the days that they're not, they get to shop with me, eating samples of cheese, and conning the deli ladies out of ham and the bakery ladies out of cookies. It's a win/win!
The bakery lady is lovely. We talk all the time, with or without the kids in tow. The deli ladies are always smiling and friendly (and sometimes give giant free samples), and there's one particularly amazing cashier who shares in the kids' joys and tells her own stories. When she recently welcomed her first, long-awaited grandchild, she handed me her phone, full of pictures of the wee girl in Sweden. She was so happy that I cried.
But back to the bakery lady. She's a mom, too, and likes that I make the kids ask (loudly and politely) for their cookie, and that they bellow "THANK YOU!" when she hands it over. She's friendly and funny, and the other day, she hit me with the best back-handed compliment that I've gotten in a long time.
"You look really good," she said, "for a mom of three."
"No, I mean, most women with three kids look TERRIBLE. Really tired and, just, HORRIBLE."
"I mean, you look tired, but not HORRIBLE."
And on top of that, "Tamsin's" cookie, which I usually get to eat most of, was eaten in full by the varmint. Humph.
It got better later: we went to the park after dinner. Vaughn took the hockey sticks, Ailsa pulled Tamsin in the wagon, and we stopped on the way to visit with a nice doggie. The owner looked at them, then at me.
"Beautiful children. Are they all yours?"
"Yes, thank you!"
"All three? But you're so young."
There "may" have been a strut the rest of the way to the park. And back.