It came as a total shock to me, yesterday, when we filed into the school for Chickadee's "moving on ceremony" and I found myself tearing up a little. I am not a terribly sentimental person under the best of circumstances. And as we already know, Monkey's moving on ceremony didn't exactly set me up to expect great things. But MAN OH MAN they put on the Ritz for the fifth graders, and it was impossible to stand there and not think about how my firstborn---who was once a baby with bright blue eyes and a cloud of hair standing up every which way with static---is now a young lady with piercing...
It's getting to where it feels like I need a whole separate calendar just to keep track of the end-of-school-year events and happenings and places we are required to be and things we need to do. (For example: The day after school ends, incoming middle schoolers for the following year who wish to be in the band have to go fork over a few wads of cash, sign paperwork, and pick their instruments. Should you move to the district later than the day after school ends, one assumes you are relegated to playing tuba. In the corner.) Today was a very special day wherein Chickadee and a classmate were...
This morning, we trooped over to school like the dutiful parents and grandparents we are, and watched while a whole passel of third graders were shepherded through their "moving on" ceremony, even though there's still a week of school left. This is a terrible time of year for the kids; in addition to the end of the school year kind of bringing the CRAYZEE no matter what (because... CHANGE! means you should... RUN AROUND IN CIRCLES! or something, when you're a kid), owing to our superfantabulous redistricting that goes into place next year, approximately 65% of our student body will be headed...
Tomorrow my dad and stepmom arrive for a week-long visit, and because we love them very much and hope they never figure out what complete and total pigs we are, we've been tidying up the house in preparation for their arrival. Um. Wait. I think maybe they read this blog. Oh hey, look over there! RIBEYES, POPSICLES AND A FUNNY MOVIE WITH STEVE CARELL! (Okay, we should be good for about an hour and forty minutes, now.) ANYWAY, as I was saying, my family is disgusting. Well, everyone except Otto. Otto is probably the tidiest of the lot of us, because he is part robot. (Otto's mother is lovely,...
Part of the cycle I have trouble with, when I'm feeling wretched, is that it's pretty rare for me to lose sight of the fact that I'm being ridiculous. I mean, I feel crappy. I don't like feeling crappy. But I have a roof over my head, a beautiful family, a pretty awesome job, and nothing of substance to complain about. The fact that I will complain, anyway, is proof of my unworthiness as a human being. Which makes me feel more wretched. Which makes me realize I'm being stupid. Which... Well, you get the idea. The fact that my family loves me anyway is concrete proof that grace is...
We're in the car taking a brief trip (right now! I love my iPhone!) and there is a tremendous WHOMP as Chickadee whacks my seat from behind. Me: Stop kicking my seat! Her: I'm not kicking, that was my HEAD! Me: Stop headbutting my seat! Her: That hurt my head WAY more than it hurt your back! Me: My BACK! Her: My HEAD!! Otto: My GOD. That's it; I am NOT driving you two to Hawaii, now. [We both stare at him.] You know, through the secret government tunnel. Nevermind. I can hardly wait for our first big trip this summer. Obviously.
On Saturday, Otto needed to be on campus all day for a workshop, so the kids and I were left to fend for ourselves. No matter---we slept late, lolled around in our jammies, and about three hours later than we normally have breakfast, I made the kids some French toast out of homemade bread. ["Mom, this is the best French toast in the history of French toast," Monkey said, mouth crammed full and syrup dribbling from the corner of his lips. I know he's a suck-up, but it's still nice to hear.] After, I did the dishes while the kids played on the computer. I suggested we think about going on a...
Other than her very first year of life---where she went from a froggy little blob to a walking, talking, demanding little creature---I can think of no other year of Chickadee's life where she seems so changed, to me. She began smelling less like a kid. She cut her hair. She got contact lenses. And now, she's gone and made herself all fancy. May BAYBEEEEEEE! All grown up!
There are things in this world which I intellectually know to be true, but they remain---in my experience---sort of mythical, anyway, because I have no direct experience with them. Like... oh, I don't know. Take THE HEARTBREAK OF PSORIASIS. (Anyone remember those commercials?) I'm sure it's VERY heartbreaking. Anything that warrants the combination of a leading P and then an S is usually something Very Serious Indeed (see also: PSychiatry, PSilocybin, PSalms, PSeudo, and of course, PSHAW). On the other hand, I don't know anyone who has psoriasis, so I can only imagine the heartbreak it...
