Earlier this morning I plugged some reggae music in and turned it up really loud and let the kids run crazy so I could bake their freshly berried desert.
The Earth shook periodically, the mugs and pots skipped to the beat blaring from the living room. I heard the thunder of synchronized elephant feet stomping around. Finally I put the-raspberry/blueberry-chocolate-marshmallow crumble in the oven and creamed a bit of mascarpone with maple syrup for the topping. *A few weeks a go I made a conscious decision to say Good Bye to any resemblance of an effort to obtain a beach body for this summer.*
I took a deep breath, gathered a lot of courage, and ventured into the living room to reclaim what was left of my apartment and my children.
I was not so surprised to see my five-year old daughter in different clothes. She was now wearing a pink leotard with her pink tutu skirt and was throwing cushions around wildly.
I was however surprised to see my two-year old son wearing a frilly pink polka dot dress that he borrowed from his sister and a pink glittery hairband. He was doing the most wonderful pirouettes and plies having one of the unfortunate barbies for a partner.
Capes and princess dresses were thrown all over the floor and barbies with chopped off hair were poking out the sofa.
Did I mention they were listening to reggae music?
Ahhh, the dilemma of “do I try to rein them in or do I join them! Easy!