Love is cooking when I'm too tired to eat, and figuring out how to make a yummy breading out of cornmeal (and then explaining that yes, it's "breading," but no, it doesn't have gluten in it). Love is being 35 and still playing with your (kids') food. Happy Love Thursday, everyone.
I lucked out, this morning, and Monkey did NOT remember to ask me again. But as the comments rolled in on that post I found myself wanting to explain a few things to everyone, like that I know "the talk" is a whole bunch of talks, and that we've already discussed a lot of this stuff. Nor am I particularly squeamish. It's just that Monkey is only 6, and a very YOUNG 6. In fact, he's the kind of 6 who sits in the Tae Kwon Studio with me while Chickadee's in class and---apropos of nothing---announces, "Mama, I don't remember being in your belly. OR coming out of your vagina!" So perhaps that...
Today was a pretty dull day, though that was (as you might imagine) a welcome change after yesterday. Oh, sure---at one point this afternoon, my internet died. That was exciting for a few minutes, as my life flashed before my eyes. (Insert slow-motion realization that I've lost connectivity---and the slow, anguished "Nooooooooooooo!" that came with it---here.) Being left without a connection to the outside world forced me to take up my vacuum and CLEAN in the middle of the afternoon, so it all worked out okay. And the crockpot was going all day, so it certainly smelled good in here. Crockpot...
I love my children. I love love love love my children. There is nothing my children could do that would make me stop loving them. No matter how digusting or gross my children sometimes are, I will never falter in my love for them. Much. I'm going to try to tell you this without gagging more than a few times. If you are squeamish, GO READ SOMETHING ELSE. I mean it. You've been warned. So. Um. Where to begin? At the beginning, I guess. My children can be somewhat forgetful. Chickadee often loses things. Monkey frequently forgets how to read. You know, the standard kids things. And lately,...
So we had this local pumpkin festival thing this weekend, and I didn't take the kids. At all. Friday night we could've attended the "festival opening," but I was still feeling pretty sick and crummy. Saturday we had a soccer game and then I made the children go bed shopping with me, because THAT's the sort of memory I figure contributes to a fulfilled childhood. Today we went to church and drive right past the pumpkin festival on our way home, and all I could think was that I needed to at least go home and take off my uncomfortable shoes and change my clothes, first, knowing even then that I...
Love is doing the best I can, being patient and kind when I want to grab him and shake him. Love is endless doctors' appointments and "wait and see"ing and second opinion-ing and praying. Love is daily reports from the teacher. Love is the highest-calorie (yet nutritious) foods I can think of so that one or two bites will sustain him. Love is gently reminding him, every day---when he begins talking about how he is sure that any day now, a friend from last year at his old school will be sending him a birthday party invitation---that sometimes things change, people change, plans change, and...
Creative ways to cheer on six-year-olds during a soccer game: "That was a REALLY GREAT KICK! Next time you'll get the direction right, too!" "Good hustle! Let's keep the stealing of the ball from teammates to a minimum, though!" "That's okay! Shake it off! Next time try standing somewhere near the goal, since you're the goalie and all!" "Spread out so you can pass! Spread out! No, not out of bounds! Just... oh... nevermind." "That's it! Go after the ball! The BALL! Over THERE!" "GET OUT OF THE POISON IVY!!" "Everyone who can remember which goal is ours for the entire quarter gets a fruit...
My daughter has developed a new fixation. Apparently she spends every recess with a group of girls, jump roping. That's fine with me. More than fine, actually---I recall a similar period in my own girlhood where jumping rope was pretty much the pinnacle of all that mattered to me. It's good exercise, it's a useful social construct, and very few parents have received phone calls asking them to come immediately and tend to a child who had a tragic jump roping accident. Truly, it has the potential to be the perfect recess activity. Perhaps this is why I find myself so conflicted, today, upon...
The background: We have two soccer coaches, one of whom is a friend of mine. She happens to have pneumonia (!!) this week, and so missed practice and will likely miss tomorrow's game. Chickadee was on the phone with her father tonight, and he must have said something about seeing this friend/coach at soccer tomorrow. Chickadee: No, she won't be there, Daddy. She has amnesia.