My nice quiet bubble of solitude has been popped. Chickadee came home filled with stories about her trip, all of the things they did and which kid said what and how she ordered a veggie burger one day that was GREEN on the inside, SO GROSS. Me: Maybe that means it was made of real vegetables! Did you try it? Her: No, it was just GROSS. Veggie burgers are not supposed to be GREEN. Me: Plenty of vegetables are green. Maybe instead of soy and chemicals it was made of GREEN VEGETABLES? Her: I don't think so. Me: So what did you end up eating? Her: Oh, it's okay! I had my french fries, and a...
Chickadee is home again, and I know it's wrong, but the regression she experiences when tired and uncomfortable totally makes me giggle. I swear last night I navigated a crowd of parents and stinky middle schoolers and plucked Toddler Chickadee of Yore out of the crowd, she who hugged me and delighted in my having brought the dog and promptly broke down into sniffles because her face was sunburned and it "huuuuuuuuurts" to wear her glasses (sniff, sniff). I tried to be solicitous, I did; but I kept laughing. It was all just so very pitiful. I brought her home and tucked her into bed and am...
I'm having trouble tearing myself away from the earthquake/tsunami coverage, today. I just... can't even imagine. Even looking at pictures, I just can't imagine what must be happening there. I feel like I should DO SOMETHING, and if I can't, well surely my life---my non-natural-disaster-rocked, comfortable life---should just go into suspended animation until the world rights itself again, somehow. (I feel stupid, just typing that.) The news I was bursting to come and share yesterday afternoon feels inconsequential, except that it is still, for us, a very big deal: We found a therapist for...
By the time Chickadee got home from school yesterday, she was all sweetness and light again. She wanted hugs and kisses and to cuddle and was full of stories from the day and things she'd been meaning to tell me and pretty much just brimming over with "I am sorry except I can't actually SAY that." Just like that, the events of the morning are set to rights. In her perception, anyway. I try to go with it, to suck up the goodness when it happens. Like the little girl with the little curl, when she is good she is so very, very good. So I roll with it. I take a quiet moment to remind her that I...
I once had a fellow mom-to-an-Aspie comment to me that her kid (unintentionally) hurt her feelings all the time because, you know, Aspies aren't so good with interpersonal relations, on the whole. "I know it's not intentional," she confided, "but sometimes it just really hurts." Funny; Monkey only very rarely hurts my feelings. I think it's BECAUSE I know that the stray rude/hurtful comment is likely unintentional (or, conversely, totally intentional but generally spurred on by anger or frustration that has very little to do with me personally) that I'm able to let it just kind of roll off...
It's true that our "kingdom" at present doesn't amount to much, and as many odd things as I've encountered thus far, I really haven't gotten the impression from anyone involved that the offer of a deck badly in need of refinishing or a falling-down fence or even the pond full of peep-peep-peeping frogs would significantly improve our odds of being helped, but whatever we do have, I would happily offer it in exchange for the ability to: 1) Locate an appropriate child psychologist, 2) discover said professional takes our insurance, 3) admire said professional's extensive experience in dealing...
So I went to this thing. (Truly, I am a master storyteller, no? Silver-tongued and imbued with the wisdom of the ages!) It was a meet-n-greet for elementary school parents get to chat a bit with our local middle school's staff, and I went. I felt a little bit like a spy, because of course I already know the principal and the staff; my daughter's been at this school for nearly two years, already. And normally I'm the last person to attend any meeting that isn't compulsory, but it occurred to me that when they had this when Chickadee was in 5th grade, I sent Otto for some reason (I can't...
I find my fingers itching to click "Buy" on polo shirts. I spend a goodish chunk of every day combing websites and sales and coupons for Want Not, and of course some of the deals I'm finding, I'm also buying. I consider it an occupational hazard. Though I don't really consider it a hazard, even when my daughter opens the pantry and beholds fifteen boxes of cereal and dryly inquires, "Exactly how many people do you think live here, Mom?" My standard line is that I am cursed with tightwad tendencies but impeccable taste; for me, the deals are about getting the expensive stuff for cheap, not...
After the fun detailed in yesterday's post, I couldn't WAIT to hear how Chickadee's essay/speech was received in class. Because I was sure she'd tanked and I wanted to savor her embarrassment, as any good parent would. I asked how it went and she gleefully reported that "everyone's speeches were too short" so "the teacher gave us all extensions until Thursday!" Huh. Well, I told her to get to work. She worked a good minute or two before asking for help, and I like to think the way I laughed in her face made it clear that my assistance was no longer available. We also had a discussion at...
