The Magic of Minor Holidays

We have a long tradition of getting the most out of our minor holidays.  David once made the best decision of his life on a minor holiday and since then we do our best to joyfully exploit every minor holiday on the calendar.

Yesterday was no exception.

We all slept in, with the exception of Caleb who set his alarm and rode his bike to the church to set up flags around the neighborhood with the rest of the scouts.  Do I love that I heard his alarm and then rolled over, burrowed into David's side and went back to sleep, completely confident that he would get himself up and do his duty?  Yes, I do.

I made a big breakfast of crazy pancakes (which are really German Pancakes, but we call our crepes "German Pancakes" and so we needed a new name for the actual German Pancakes.  This was a mistake perpetrated in the last generation in our family and I don't know why I didn't correct it when I had children.  Make a note Em, this madness can stop with you.)

And then we played games until mid-afternoon when I took Olivia to her viola lesson and stopped at the store for baking potatoes.

David surprised us all by coming home by five, a rare occurrence on any day, and celebrated by kissing me thoroughly while the potatoes baked.  And just when things started taking a turn for the scandalous and he began pulling me towards a more private corner (I'm telling you he has a thing for minor holidays), I raised my head and caught my children enjoying a perfect gloaming together.

At dinner, Olivia bowed her head and thanked heaven for "all the soldiers and all the veterans who had fought in that war."  We all said "Amen" and meant it.  Because of them we enjoyed a perfect minor holiday, free and safe, in the middle of the week in the middle of November.  We could not have been more grateful.

I was humming this morning while I dished eggs onto the plates.  Ethan said, "You're alone again today, Mom."  He had a worried look on his face that said he didn't want to be the one to break the news to me but somebody had to do it.

I said, "Yep."

"Then why are you happy?"

I smiled at him and told him to eat his eggs.

Why am I happy?  Leftovers from yesterday, I suppose.  And the small, delicious taste we got of the major holidays just around the corner.  I really can't help myself.  I have been seduced, yet again, by the bewitching charms of the minor holiday.  After all, she has all the fun and none of the work and stress and pressure of her more "official" sister.  Which is just more evidence of birth-order discrimination, I say.  Apparently, even first-born holidays do most of the work.

(That's right, I said it.  My brothers and sisters may now audibly groan.  It's still true, though.)