Stolen moments

This morning the kids were at a high-level of neediness. I, of course, was running around trying to get a lot done in not enough time. Welcome to my life. I put on our Imagination Movers DVD, which usually makes everyone happy while they dance and sing along. They squabbled. "Don't touch me!" "No, Claire! I don't want to dance with you!"

Until I separated them. You get this half of the carpet, you get this half. As soon as I looked away, they were sneaking onto each other's space - giggling together. Conspiring against me. I'm all for it since the whining stopped. Temporarily.

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Some of my favorite recent memories:

Ben: Mama, I want to tell you something.
Me: Yes?
Ben: A car got broken, and a tow truck fixed it and a fire truck fixed it.
(He repeats this at every rest and bedtime. In its current incarnation there are also usually five tractors of different colors who also help fix the car. Staller extraordinaire.)

Me: Why are all of the pillows on the floor?
Claire: All of my friends are coming. We're having a hotchskop (hopscotch) tournament. If you need me send me an email, ok Mama?

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Right now the silence is wonderful. The dog is sleeping in Daddy's chair, head resting on an Elmo slipper. (Oh yes, he is a daddy's boy.) Ben is quietly snoozing in his crib - he chatted for approximately 12 seconds after I put him in, and then dropped right off. When I last left Claire she was setting up her chairs and her bunny blanket to make a tent for all of her "friends". Now I hear no pitter patter of footsteps on the dining room ceiling (no KABLOOM of jumping off of her bed, either). I imagine her up there on the floor in a tangle of blankets and stuffed animals, legs stretched out in what appears to be an impossibly uncomfortable position. Flushed cheeks and even breathing. I wish I could sneak in, but her door sticks, and invariably wakes her. I will just have to hold onto the picture my mind has built, and wait for her to wander downstairs with creases on her cheeks, and eager for hugs.