On being (ir)relevant. And being nice.

So it's the week before Christmas--a week I've been looking forward to for months. I submitted my grades by 7 a.m. on Monday, and then felt giddy every time I thought of that blessed afternoon hour where Caleb would be at school and Cecily would be taking a nap. All told, I was counting on anywhere between four and eight hours where I wouldn't be needed by one of my darling children or by the research paper grading taskmaster.

On Monday, I chose to use my two hours to finish up the bird costumes I'm making for Caleb's kindergarten operetta, and then I considered what I would do on Tuesday.

I considered for about fifteen minutes, until I picked said kindergartener up and he spent his time--instead of running circles around me, which is literally what he does each day when I meet him outside the school--imitating a limp noodle.

Sick. The child was sick. So he stayed home from school on Tuesday. Then he stayed home on Wednesday, too.

Writing it down makes it sound almost trivial: "Oh, the poor sick child who had to stay home for two days." No. No. I want you to think of my lost hours of Being Irrelevant. Tuesday and Wednesday were going to be prime Me Days. I was going to do frivolous things like read novels during the day and get my hair cut and lie on the bed enjoying the feeling of having nothing to do. Instead, I was whined at by a child whose fever refused to go down but who was entirely unbothered by that fever. And the baby only took an hour-long nap, so she was whiny, too.

I know, I know: wah. Your heart breaks for me. You're thinking, "So why didn't you do those things today? Hmm? Why whine about your lost time and not make up for it when you have it?" Well, because: today I helped at the holiday party. There was no time gained back. I have been Relevant all week.

Of course, there's nothing wrong with being Relevant when that's what you're expecting. With T-minus almost-no-time-at-all, tonight we went to Temple Square to see the lights (along with roughly 10% of the rest of the Salt Lake Valley), and my babies are so sweet sometimes that I nearly can't stand it. As we walked from the car to the temple, Caleb wanted to sing Christmas carols--so, even though it's always awkward to sing spontaneously in public places, we did. And the baby (bundled up to within an inch of her life) pointed at the lights and talked the whole time: "Oooh! Oooh!" and "Dadadadadadadadadadadadadadadada!"

They are sweet. And believe it or not, I am looking forward to Caleb being off track starting tomorrow at 1:25 p.m.