We've had a lot of tough moments this past week (nothing very serious in the long run), but I think, in the end, I remember when we coped well, and not so much what we coped with.
James cut his finger on a piece of glass from a broken picture frame today, and had another trouble as well, and once I had him all calmed down and cleaned up (though he was still a little weepy--he had been worried he was dying, and he hates band-aids these days), I told Isabel what had happened and asked her if she could think of anything she could do to make him feel better. I peek in, and there they are--Isabel reading him Toy Story 3 under the Curious George duvet, and James happily commenting on the story.
Last week our car went kaplooie when I was out with all 3 kids in a parking garage far from home. Would you believe those kids happily took turns riding on the one balance bike we had in the back, and playing hide-and-go-seek for 2 hours until their dad could come pick them up? I'd seen that episode of Caillou where the car breaks down and marveled at the calm way he reacted to such aggravation. I'd secretly thought it was completely unbelievable, but wondered, too, whether I could ever be capable of such greatness. :) I don't know if I am, but clearly, the kids are.
They've gotten into lots of trouble, too--there's been a push, a tantrum (in public!), and general unprovoked mess-making today--see if you can guess which is which!--but for some reason probably related to the survival of the species, I don't remember these parts with the clarity I do the parts that made me so happy.