E finished up her outdoor soccer season several weeks ago, but had a stray tournament game on Friday night. Friday was a crazy busy day, and the weather had turned colder and the wind had picked up, and the game was at night, long past F’s bedtime. All of these were good reasons for the whole family not to attend, and it was decided that I was the one who would stay home while M attended. I love watching the game, and I was sorry to miss her last one, but I’m going to admit that I didn’t feel all that badly. In fact, I felt a little relieved. Cold+wind+ancy toddler+long day=not a lot of fun. They came home wind burned and chilled to the bone. I was warm and had been baking chocolate cupcakes.
Yesterday morning M was packing up the truck for a two day camping trip with E’s class. He went on the last one, and he also volunteered for this one. The morning was cold and blustery, and rain and storms were in the forcast. As I headed out the door to work, E grabbed me fiercely around the waste and apologized that I was missing out on the camping trip yet again. “I promise,” she said earnestly. “Next time, you can go.” I smiled and wished her a good time, and spent the rest of the day in my warm, dry, quiet office thinking fondly of that cold, wet group tromping through the woods and thanking my lucky stars for willing dads.