On his second day of camp drop-off, Ali’s 6-year-old balked. He clung to her leg and asked if she had to work today. Did he need to be there the whole day? Couldn’t she come early to get him? He didn’t know anyone at camp and he wasn’t having fun. He teared up as he grasped for a way out of camp. Ali hugged him and said that she knew he could do it and that she would be there early if she could get out of work in time. He watched her go with a trembling lip. She glanced back as she left the drop off area and noticed how much smaller he looked than the other campers. (more…)
On Monday mornings I cavort with two small superheroes outfitted in bright red capes and felt eye masks. The larger of these superheroes is fast. During a neighborhood jaunt, he catches the eye of a driver at a stop sign and silently challenges him to a race. Determined to prove that superheroes can outperform automobiles, he churns his skinny five-year-old legs as quickly as he can. The tinier superhero tries to keep up with his big brother, committing to the waddling run of a two-year-old with an enormously round belly. The chunky little superhero increases his volume of panting to provide an audible demonstration of his speed, emphasizing it further with a declaration of “super duper fast!” And then the larger superhero scornfully observes that the tinier one could never beat a car. (more…)
Let’s assume you adore your kids. Not the detached kind of adore where you show off pictures at your reunion, or which finds you proclaiming them to be the sweetest of sleeping angels. I’m talking about the kind of adore that makes your heart expand with a mix of joy and love when your child firmly maintains that his shoes are on the right feet (they aren’t). The kind of adore which downgrades your fury to mild irritation when a singsong “I’m awa-aake!” rouses you at 5:00am on a Monday morning. It’s the kind of love that makes you want to be present and engaged with your singing alarm clock. (more…)
It’s Friday night, better known as Burrito Night in my household. I look forward to this night more than I should admit, but after a long week of working, parenting, and being compelled to wear pants that don’t have an elastic waist, I’m looking for comfort. I don’t generally do halfsies on dinner, so the giant meal in a soft tortilla package is mine. All mine. However, since I sometimes like to think of myself as a refined lady, I try to put away that gluttonous thought and replace it with a more moderate one: this burrito is enormous; I will eat only half and can then look forward to eating the rest of it tomorrow. The burrito is the size of a small dog, so this isn’t a crazy thought and it really shouldn’t be such a challenge.
But it is. In no time at all, I’ve hit the center of the burrito deliciousness. I don’t mean to be overly vivid, but it tastes so good and has such a warming and bolstering effect on my body that, simply put, I’d rather keep eating than stop. And herein lies my regular Friday challenge: do I follow the all-in path, or the more moderate one? (more…)
“Real life is not like couples therapy”, Greg says. “There isn’t a free hour in our week to talk about feelings or needs. We have kids. We have jobs.”
Touché. And come to think of it, this morning was filled up with my three year old in kitty mode, my five year old earnestly telling me about a new paper airplane design, and me trying to calm my puffy hair so I looked more like a professional and less a crazy mom. Amidst the chaos, did I exchange any words with my husband? (more…)