This is not the first post I've written about Normal. It's not even the first one I've written about Routine. And how much we love it and depend on it. And naptime, snack time, blah blah blah.

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Well.

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We had a Grandparent Weekend. It was a Mother's Day slash Birthday slash Graduation slash Grandparent fiesta. And we loved it.

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But it was a Grandparent Weekend.

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Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about. While enjoying every minute of bathtime with Grandma and dog walking with Grandpa and all the other off-the-routine, abnormalness that comes with a Grandparent Weekend – we ever so gradually and ever so subtlely deviated from our beloved little dance. Our normal.

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We were playing outside one afternoon while Grandma and Grandpa were here and joking that they were experiencing our everyday life of entertaining a toddler in that hour between supper and bedtime. And that it really is as fabulously exciting as it appears in photos. Bubbles. Brooms. Sticks and dirt and puppy dogs. Bedtime. Repeat.

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Normal.

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Grandparents left Tuesday morning. It's now Friday. And we're not quite there yet.

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Back to normal.

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The 'being poked and tickled with brooms while sitting in a bush in the front yard" kind of normal.

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But what's normal anyway?

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Overrated.

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That's what.

 

 

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