Moth Crafts or More Money?

Day trip to a ghost town with grandpa after mommy puts the keyboard away.

This is my thinking today: I have to get a full time job so we can go on vacation! 

I am lucky as a freelancer to have work almost daily (including weekends), and be able to say that while making moth crafts with Morgan. She's terrified of moths, so, of course, wants to make one. So proud! 

In that respect, I am happy with my current job situation. I get to be with the twins from the crack of dawn (their unfortunate rise time no matter the circumstances) until a good hour after their actual bedtime. I write for national publications, have the opportunity to interview interesting people on a weekly basis about everything from gun control to "Duck Dynasty," the musical. I get to write every morning, while singing "Animal Crackers," unscrewing tricky glue stick caps or receiving "kissy-hugs," sometimes all at once. And I have the time to research such important things as moth crafts, not an easy task.

But it works. We've learned that Luna moths don't have mouths and moths pollinate yuccas, a favorite white flower of the Mugs. Morgan loves bees and is happy that the moths have an important job, too, and no mouth to bite with, so we have two checks in the pro-moth column so far. I even have a few story ideas to pitch to my regional editors about our winged friends.

Still, if I got a "real" job with a regular paycheck, we could take a train trip through the Rockies, which would be such a thrill for them! They are fascinated with stars and mountains. We could rent that beach condo from a friend of a friend of ours instead of staying at the remodeled La Quinta with its permanent "Please excuse our dust" sign in the lobby.

Trade offs. That train will still be there when the twins are older and possibly in school full-time. We can go another year at La Quinta, close to family we can't see enough of. The free continental breakfast includes hot, fresh pancakes, almost as yummy as the fluffy flapjacks I could whip up in that fancy condo kitchen. Trade offs.

Easter Bunny gives mommy a gift

Jack woke up sobbing this Easter morning, before the sun truly cracked over the horizon. I went in and rubbed his back, trying to coax the bad dream out of the little guy.

J: "I won't get an Easter basket!"
Me: "Why not?"
J: Racked with sobs, "Because, becaaauuusse...I got out of beeeeddddd!"

We had told him the night before if he got out of bed and goofed around that the Easter Bunny might not come. Ugh.

Morgan piped up and said, without hesitation, "I'll share my basket with you, Jack!" They crawled in to my bed and slept until the Easter Bunny could hide the eggs.

That's an "awww" moment, right? Well, I felt bad for a couple of reasons.

I had just scolded Morgan a few days ago, and I was still feeling kind of bad. I don't like the word, scolded. It's hard and, like the action, sort of mean and condescending. But I forgot all the conscious-mindful-brain link info I'd digested in the last 5 years of their little lives and turned to the hard-wired parenting that is in all our brains: What would my mother do? Except I went old-school: What would my grandmother do?

She didn't worry about my level of understanding, kindness quotient, emotional IQ. She took swift action when I crossed the line with either a kitchen utensil or a mean glare.

But it works, I'm tellin' ya. Morgan saw my face and heard that roar start to build in my voice when I called her name. And we all walked away unscathed, I hope. We'll find out later, I guess.

We've talked about sharing, and I've fumbled around with the latest parenting techniques when I've found her holding her brother's toys hostage in some childish pleasure we never quite shake or see a that look in his eye when he's about to do something he knows is off-the-charts 'No.' It kills me when my children act like... mean children. Correcting it feels like a mine field sometimes. Go too far, they feel really negative about something we all do, not far enough and you're that mom getting those calls from the parents who actually finished that parenting book.

Apparently, Morgan is getting something good out of our parenting. In a crisis, who she is comes out fast and true. "I'll share my basket with you."

And hey, maybe that Easter Bunny boycotting our house thing might serve us well. At least one more night? We could really use the extra sleep around here.