Anyway, I thought throwing some applesauce pouches at them would tide them over until I could put the victuals away and make lunch.
Wrong wrong wronger mcwrongerson wrong.
In a totally misguided attempt to get Peter down for a nap in the midst of the meltdown, I found myself sitting with both kids in the glider, rocking.
Clare asked what we were doing, and I told her. "We're sitting here, rocking and snuggling and just being together for a minute. Isn't that enough?"
The glider thing worked well enough and the kids pushed through the 10 minutes to lunch.
But the question has been lingering in my mind.
Isn't that enough? Because how often is that, whatever it is, not enough? How often do we need more? More stuff. More stimulation. More more more. We live in a more society, and I'm as bad as the next guy. There's always another message to respond to or another article to read or another chore to do. There's always another book to read or game to play or diaper to change or kid to tickle. And maybe none of those is bad in itself, but at the end of the day, what really matters?
I want to be content with enough, because those few minutes, with both of my babies snuggled into my arms, squished into a single seat, quiet and still in the dim bedroom -- those will be some of the most precious of my day.