I want to say stuff about how it's going with Chickadee, because I am so happy, every minute, and still whispering to Otto, "Is this real?" and surreptitiously pinching myself because it's so much better than I'd dared to hope for, having her back home. I don't want to say anything about how it's going with Chickadee, because if I've learned anything over the last 18 months or so, it's that the things you think you can control or anticipate as a parent can change in an instant, in terrible ways, in ways you never considered, in ways that make people judge your family for things which truly...
Offered without further comment, other than to say this is but her most recent observation on the oft-amusing experience of reconnecting with all the kids she's known for years, some of whom have... changed... in her absence:
You may have felt like I've kind of been half-assing it 'round here the last few weeks. (Alternatively, you may find it hilarious that I think you care that much. If you fall into this latter category, just skip ahead to the next paragraph.) Confession: I've been half-assing it here for the last few weeks. My heart and mind has been elsewhere, and some of the distraction has been emotional, but a lot of it has been logistical. There was just a lot to be done in a fairly short period of time, and I put my head down and tried to power through it, even while fighting back the fears that it...
It's very rare that I don't know what to say. (Mind you, I don't always say the right thing, but I can usually muster up SOMETHING. Even if it involves shoving my entire foot and half my leg into my mouth.) Maybe it's because I'm getting older or maybe it's just that I'm finally learning that whole "better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt" thing. I'm still happy to play the fool when times are easy. In tougher times, though, I'm not entirely sure what to do. I spent the weekend mulling over these notions of how "love wins" and "love is enough." I want to...
When you think about having children, you dream of all the magical things you'll do together and all the memories you'll build. You hope you'll have similar interests and hopes and goals. Actual conversation from earlier today in the car, upon spotting a rather unfortunate-looking (read: dead) armadillo on the shoulder. Me: Oh no, Mr. Armadillo. That's not a good place for a nap! Monkey: Maybe he's very sleepy. Me: Like he was walking along, and suddenly he was just overcome with the need for a short rest? Monkey: Exactly. So he just flopped over on his back like that for a power-nap. Me:...
I can't remember if I mentioned that I finally upgraded to an iPhone 5 from my previous dinosaur-era model (deductible business expense, wooo!), which means I am only recently learning the wonders of Siri. Siri and I have a somewhat difficult relationship, although nowadays if I say to her, "Siri, what's my name?" she will gamely respond, "Your name is Miriam. But because we are friends, I get to call you Mir." (I don't know if we're truly friends, but I appreciate that Siri knows how to ingratiate herself.) It's true that this phone means I am forever feeling my age; last night at play...
Hippie School is working on some sort of family history/family tree/civil rights mashup project right now---at least, I think they are. Monkey tends to be a little obtuse when it comes to telling me about what's actually happening at school. Somewhere in his brain, the fact that I oversee his HOME homeschool days gives him carte blanche to tell me only select snippets about what happens when he's over at Hippie School. As a result, if I am to believe his version of events, on a regular day at Hippie School all that happens is: He plays D&D with a couple of his buddies, someone does something...
My Prednisone-fueled pace for 2013 continues unabated. I don't know that I'm actually accomplishing anything beyond what a normal, functioning adult should be doing---possibly the last year has left me with a bar that is not so much low as it is smashed-on-the-ground and therefore easy to clear---but it certainly FEELS like I am Getting Crap Done in various areas of my life. And yet, between cleaning things and getting work done and spending hours on the phone with the government (that's... a whole 'nother story for another time, and it shall be called Medicaid May Actually Be A Unicorn) and...
We've been arguing about it for months. MONTHS! Every time you said, "I'm going to be a TEENAGER soon," I replied with a swift verbal smackdown: "No. NO YOU'RE NOT. I won't allow it. You can't!" You laughed, every time. The joke never grows old. (Then again, when has a joke ever grown old with you? Exactly. Wait, let me guess: You're Batman? I thought so!) About a week ago, you told me you had the solution. "Mom. Mom! Since you don't want me to be a teenager, I've decided I'll just turn THIRT. No teen, see?" I agreed that this was an excellent solution. "Maybe when you stop freaking out then...
