Olympic dreams

They did it!

They took the GOLD MEDAL!




Our own Three-Beanie-Boo bobsled team!

Twenty days

I didn't feel much like writing, I guess.

That's my excuse.

That, and I was feeling sorry for myself.

Sorry that I hurt my stupid ankle.

Sorry that I couldn't run for nearly eight weeks.

Sorry that when I was able to start again I felt like I'd started from square -8.

It is humbling.

Almost as humbling as finding out your fourth grader tells the nurse "Mom is going to be mad if you call her because I feel sick."

And nearly as humbling as learning your first grader walked like a robot to lunch last week because he'd tied his shoes together. And then he cried when the teacher couldn't untie them.

But perhaps not nearly as humbling as being mistaken for a grandmother, being called a housewife, or being asked to have my husband call to authorize this transaction.

But here we are. ...

Hobbling into the Thanksgiving season no worse for actual wear, which I've decided has to mean I need to take all of this discomfort and walking it off.

Game on

Don't forget to stretch. ...

Staying limber is important.

Size up the situation ... but don't worry about the competition. We like to keep things friendly.

Don't jump the gun.

Get the best angle.

Even if it hurts.

Don't be afraid to sink your teeth into it.

Off to an auspicious start

We missed one bus.



And then another.

Still, I'm calling it in our favor.

I think we're off to a pretty good start.

Spring Break. Day two:

This is me.

I am having a wonderful time ...

It's either that or ...

I'm going to tear some poor yak limb from limb.

It's a toss-up.

Skilled nursing

He visits his school nurse probably twice a week.

A fall here, a bumped noggin there ...

No matter what's caused the visit, he usually complains of a broken arm.



She always puts it in a cast before she sends him back to class.

Hop to it ...

Easter's coming.

In a few days ... or something.

Unless you're Greek. Then you have time.

As a non-practicing Catholic, however, I was so busy not paying attention to the election selection of a new pope that I almost completely forgot about the grandest day of the whole Christian whoseamawhats's -- The biggest zombie rising of all -- Easter.

(I know ... I'm going to hell for that last paragraph.)

I was reminded of all the preparations I'd forgotten, when the kids came home from school yesterday with instructions to bring in a dozen filled Easter eggs tomorrow.

So, in my usual fashion, I decided to try and make a craftacular Easter project in three hours, using things I fished out of the trash: Felt scraps, stuffing from an old pillow and paint chips.




The idea was simple:

* Sew together two circles of felt (or furry fabric scraps) leaving about an inch on one side open.

* Turn the seams inward and stuff with old pillow fluff.

* Cut ear shaped spears from the fabric, pinch at the centers and stick into the front-most part of the opening.

* Sew it shut.

* Sew on eyes, a nose, whiskers and a cotton tail. (I used the tops of cotton swabs for the tail when I ran out of pompoms).

* Glue rabbit onto a paint chip because there's no way this is going to stand on its own.

You end up with something like this:




Then I got the bright idea to make a carrot bookmark:

* Sandwich together two rectangles of orange felt.

* Machine sew a carrot-shaped outline, complete with segments, leaving space at the top open.

* Insert a couple of loops of green felt.

* Topstitch the carrot closed.

* Cut out around the stitching with pinking sheers

* Cut a slit in a paint chip, insert carrot.

* Tape carrot down in the back.

And it looks like this:



Hardest part will be cleaning up  ...




since it looks as if the Easter Bunny vomited in my office.

'Surely we can do better ... '

I hadn't expected to bring my kids to school today. I'd planned to send them off with the bus just like any other Monday.

But it had been a long weekend filled with winter walks, neighborhood parties and a constant albeit quiet grief.  I wasn't surprised that we woke up late. I wanted to make sure they had breakfast ... and I wanted to make sure I didn't spend the last few minutes of our time together today yelling at them to get ready lest they miss their ride.

Not today. 

Today, I wanted to be mindful of the one thing I, and everyone on this planet, can do right now to begin the process of change -- we can spread kindness.  We can smile at each other more; we can kiss our kids and hug them just because they are amazing; and we can help someone who needs us. Especially a stranger.

Right now our schools need us.

And our kids need their schools. Because schools are the places where community truly becomes real to our children. 

I didn't hug my kids as they ran to their classrooms. I didn't follow them and speak to their teachers. I know them well, and know my kids are in excellent hands.

 I did speak to the former principal, though, a woman who is so devoted to the school that she has remained active there despite having to step down from her position as she battles lung cancer. I hugged her and told her I appreciated the time she took trying to comfort me.

As I left the building and headed to my car I was thankful for our president's words:

"There’s only one thing we can be sure of, and that is the love that we have — for our children, for our families, for each other.  The warmth of a small child’s embrace — that is true.  The memories we have of them, the joy that they bring, the wonder we see through their eyes, that fierce and boundless love we feel for them, a love that takes us out of ourselves, and binds us to something larger — we know that’s what matters.  We know we’re always doing right when we’re taking care of them, when we’re teaching them well, when we’re showing acts of kindness.  We don’t go wrong when we do that."

Kindness is what we need. Kindness and community.

What I learned today ...

You learn all kinds of things when visiting a kindergarten class.

For instance:

When practicing writing the alphabet, did you know that the line to which the tail of a lowercase g descends is called "The Worm Line"?

I sure didn't.

Now, I might have guessed that a d's belly is exactly the same as a b's belly, only it's facing backward ... but I had to think about it some.

And I sort of had a clue that my bellybutton is NOT screwed in with hardware of any kind, yet I kept silent.

It's true. 

I could have guessed that most of the students milling about the room were older (stronger ... and smarter) than they were the last time I saw them ...

But it's reassuring to have a definitive declaration to that effect.

However, I was dumbfounded when I discovered these in a bin against the chalkboard:

Honestly? I have no idea what they're for but I suspect that when the zombie minions break through the worm line and take over, these kids will be ready.

There are two members of this household who are already wishing they could maul Hurricane Sandy ... you know ... because their humans are cooped up with nothing better to do for who knows how long

But at least we're getting some school projects out of the way.

Simple math

 

8 + 5 = 10 p.m. Bedtime

Tinder and tentacles

He. Never. Looked. Back.

Not even a glance.

Kinda makes me want to gather up all those kindergarten preparatory books  (you know, the ones that coach kids in the fine art of treading lightly on their mothers' feelers as they take their first steps toward independence) douse them in accelerant and light them on fire.

Kindergarten (dis)Orientation

How is this possible?

He can't be old enough for school.

            

He was just born yesterday.

Can't see the forest for the trees

100 points of light poking through the woodlands, which have been clearcut to give us this year's raft of important back-to-school information, are threatening to make me go blind. 

Honestly. No fewer than 100 pages of "Important" information have been sent to us from Kindy thus far.

The most important of which I probably didn't read. ... because of eye strain.

Which all makes me doubt my new central organization plan.

I'm not sure the magnets will stand up under the weight of dead trees.

Breathing room

It's been a long, angsty, nothing-bodes-well kind of week.

But we're all still here and hanging on.

Thursday afternoon offered a pretty good moment. The Champ graduated from the Marilla Cuthbert Academy for Unspeakably Charming Children.

I expected to cry ... and I did ... but not how I'd thought it would happen.

We were leaving and I saw my family skipping up the sidewalk into the afternoon sun. We'd never be in this place again. I wasn't sad so much as relieved. Small days may be over but big days are still ahead. Onward we go.






Perhaps the best part of the week happened near the end of the day today.

A new beginning of sorts.

We went to pick up our first CSA share at a local farm.

After a little walk around the place ... visiting the horses, pigs and sheep ... we found our way back to the gathering barn.

This week's bounty: Squash, zucchini, radishes, turnips, arugula, lettuce, cilantro and something called kohlrabi, which the internets informed me can be eaten raw in salad or cooked in a stir fry.








We did both.

Ittybit ate it by the fistful as we sauteed the remainder with chickpeas, curry sauce and leftover beef.

It feels good to expand our horizons.





And get some breathing room.

Space cadet ...

That would be me for agreeing to host a "Space Craft Camp" tomorrow for Ittybit's second grade class.






I suggested we eat Oreos and plant sunflowers, but she wants to create a play (including scenery) based on the old Schoolhouse Rock! song Interplanet Janet.

She's already staked out the role of Janet and her brother wants to be Pluto.

This should be good.

The best light of all ...

is powered by books.

Flakes

The district called this morning just after the bus picked up the girl and hauled her away to school. The snow wasn't even falling then, but, in their infinite wisdom (and with one to three inches expected by evening) they'd decided to cancel afternoon classes anyway.

Barely more than an inch of wet snow had fallen when the bus brought her back home. It wasn't even sticking to the roads.

The mind is one thing but a snow day is a terrible thing to waste.

Projects like this make me wish school was year-round

... and that we started this assignment in June.

Reason number 2,200,023 ...

Why riding your bike to the bus stop may be a risky undertaking.



Papa Wheelie has way too much fun bringing it back to the house.



Hopefully, your friends were looking off in the other direction.