Silly (and extremely excellent) tradition

I believe it was during camp in the summer of 2024, but it could have been 2023, that Oliver was given a cheap watch from Walmart to do something during the last big event, the 2-day King’s Game, before pickup. This watch made it back home with Ol and has been beeping every hour on the hour ever since. It’s not terribly annoying or aggressive- just one perky beep every hour that sometimes we hear and sometimes we manage to completely block out for days on end.

We have spent more time than you can imagine discussing this watch and its beep. We have great respect for the battery and some degree of confusion as to why we have not figured out how to disable the sound.

Several months ago, Oliver and I began hiding the watch in each other’s rooms and possessions. I once found it hanging from a slat underneath my bed, and most recently was stumped for hours until I found it behind a lucite bookend on a shelf. Oliver was delighted with that hide because as Tom and I looked everywhere, he stood in our doorway at first denying he’d hidden it and then demeaning our finding ability by saying repeatedly, with great pride and laughter, “I can see it right now.”

When he left for a scuba and sailing adventure in July, I had hidden the watch in his sock bag. It gave me GREAT pleasure to think of what he’d do when he found it. Yesterday he left for a cross country camp, and even though we’d discussed a watch truce, I furtively tucked that bad boy into his spikes bag with glee.

This morning, I found this:

It defies my power of description to accurately tell you how successful and chuffed I feel about this recent hide. I know he’s gonna get me back once he returns home, and honestly I cannot wait.

These sorts of traditions are so special because they arise organically, require nothing but thought and good humor, and provide much joy to all involved. At this point I hope the watch never stops beeping.

Morning Snuggle

The boys and I have a daily tradition we call Morning Snuggle. Morning Snuggle is exactly what it sounds like: we snuggle in the morning. 

It involves the boys making various amounts of noise before 6:30am -which is the time we have told them they may exit their rooms- and then barreling into our bed at 6:31am, Jack on one side of me, and Ol on the other. 

Last week, Oliver woke up at 6:10 or something, and soon after we heard him chanting, "Bad clock, too slow, bad clock, too slow..." Tom and I laughed in muted hysteria, and when it became clear that Oliver A) doesn't require breathing and thus B) was not going to stop anytime soon, Tom started timing him.

"Bad clock, too slow" went on for FIFTEEN minutes straight before we heard, "Good clock" and Ol's door open. He came to our bed as if nothing had happened. 

But I digress. In some form or fashion, the kids make noise and then pad in to find me cocooned in my sheets and fluffy comforter. They wriggle in with their icy feet and Tinkertoy arms and legs, burrowing close to me and I to them. 

Their hair is mussed, their cheeks are ever-so-slightly flushed with sleep and happiness. Tiny bits of nighttime crust might remain in the corners of their eyes. Rarely do they have morning breath, and for that, I am grateful.

Their matched-set jammies are soft and still make me see them as little ones who will wear such pjs: friendly pirates and penguins on a festive boat; red, white and blue stars; smiling sharks; all manner of motor vehicle.

Only recently do they seem keen on having different patterns on their pajamas; for years they've wanted to match. Shark Brothers, Bat Brothers...any team is possible when your sleepwear differs only by size. 

In our blanketed island, we hold each other close. I kiss them to excess and they tell me about dreams they had. They know that I know they are spinning the crazy tales as they tell them, but we all pretend otherwise. And then I kiss them some more.

"I love yous" are batted about like an Olympic ping pong ball; as if we have the whole night of silence to make up for. Morning snuggle is fairly ideal which is to say it's also somewhat ephemeral.

Before I know it, Oliver has started "mining" his way under the sheets to the foot of the bed. There, he will begin to terrorize our legs and bottoms because in those things he delights. Jack kicks which is his immediate, instinctive reaction to being tickled, and invariably, Oliver is, at some point, kicked. 

Soon after the tears are dried, Oliver will probably fart which will both stink us out and lead to a rapid fire discussion about butts. Someone begins to jump. I repeat the daily message about how much it hurts to bash one's head on the wooden headboard.

Morning snuggle's time in winding down. Rapidly. 

Finally I can take the mayhem no more and so get up to leave. "No, Mom, just a minute more. We'll calm down. SWEAR!" But they know that I know they won't, and anyhow, it's time for breakfast.

That denouement is an integral part of Morning Snuggle anyway. Something's got to give or we'd be in that bed forever. There's always tomorrow.