Last night my young, unmarried daughter confided in me that she was afraid she might be pregnant.
I think, under the circumstances, I reacted very well. I was not angry or even disappointed. Instead I was sad. And a bit amused.
Last night my young, unmarried daughter confided in me that she was afraid she might be pregnant.
I think, under the circumstances, I reacted very well. I was not angry or even disappointed. Instead I was sad. And a bit amused.
30 tiny moments: day 20
My favorite reading spot in the summer.
Our new house will have no porch, so I gave it away today.
It feels like I gave away summer.
30 tiny moments: day 19
So I haven’t written much over the last two days, but here is some of what I have done:
• Nurse a sick (grumpy) child back to reasonable health
• Clean up myriads of used tissues from the floor, couch, in my bed, nightstands, and my coat pocket. None were mine.
• Pack six moving boxes, all books
• Supervise sick (grumpy) child “helping” me pack said boxes (What the heck does ‘books are looks’ mean? [see photo at end of post] Perhaps an attempt to turn a dreary chore into poetry? Okay, it is pretty cute.)
• Attend two leadership meetings for my church’s youth group
• Prepare five meals and one dessert, all of which sick (grumpy) child deemed “kinda not good”
• Put away one load of clothes
• Ignore several more loads of dirty laundry
• Go to the closest, yet most frustrating, grocery store around. Three times. (It is being remodeled and today the jam was in frozen foods while the paper towels were in the middle of the condiment isle.)
• Send my mostly better child back to school
• Pull another child’s first loose tooth at the bus stop (At her Mom’s request)
• Comfort my tearful child, who has lost eight teeth, jealous over friend’s lost tooth (in her defense, she is still not feeling 100 %)
• Have several fragmented conversations with husband, but not a one to completion
Looking over this (incomplete) list, I wonder…why do I feel like I haven’t gotten anything done?
30 tiny moments: day 18
In another creative burst on Abby’s sick day, she pulled out a table full of art supplies and created this mountain scene in chalk. When I asked her to clean up, she replied, “Oh, I’m not done. That picture was just a warm-up.”
I can’t wait to see the main event.
If Abby was born to knit, she has fulfilled her mission.
Though her loom-knit hat turned out to be entirely too small for a full-term baby, it was the perfect size for Simba.
She is so proud of herself. It is as though an entire new world has opened up for her. A yarn world.
Her next project? A knitted purse for me.
And I will use it. (Whenever she is looking.)
I loved this post (almost as much as I love parenthesis). To read click here.
(It’s very entertaining, I may try my hand at my own parenthetical poem.)
30 tiny moments: day 19
Abby has a cold and I was forced to cancel a much anticipated play-date in order to make her rest. Apparently, this means I am “so mean!” But when she starts feeling better, maybe she’ll thank me.
Ha ha ha! Who am I kidding?
Enforced rest to my seven year old means one thing. Hours of TV.
In order to occupy her little hands and mind in a more constructive way and as a way to stave off “tv brain rot”, I bought her a knitting loom. (Set of four on sale at Michael’s for $12.)
She decided to make a hat for her friend’s little brother. Abby said, “I’m going to make a hat for him, and one for a baby. Can you go to a baby-shower?” I told her I’d see what I could do.
After a minimal learning curve, Abby was knitting.
Here are a few of the comments she has made today:
“I am so proud of me. Are you proud of me?”
“I’m making this myself. This is awesome!”
“Are you proud of me?”
“This thing doesn’t like me. Oh, maybe it does.”
“It likes me now.”
“Aren’t you proud of me for this?”
And my personal favorite: “I love this! I was born to knit and sew!”
Isn’t is amazing what a little creativity can do?
And yes, I am so proud of her.
PS: This post inspired me to buy the loom. Great blog, check it out.
30 tiny moments: day 17
…for today we saw the return of Mr. and Mother Dove. Every year since we moved here, they have built a nest under our back deck.
It was a pleasant surprise to look out the kitchen window and see them outside preening their feathers. Although a bit bittersweet to realize that this year, when their tiny chicks make their spring appearance, we will be long gone, back to Oregon.
I hope the new people appreciate them.
30 tiny moments: day 16
Next month my little family and I will be moving back home. We want our daughter to know her grandparents and that requires living close enough to make visiting realistic. Three-thousand miles is just too far to make frequent travel a possibility.
I grew up 750 miles away from my grandparents, a twelve-hour drive that my family made at least once a year.
Without a mini-van.
Without DVDs.
Without Gameboys.
Without “kid’s music”.
Without frequent bathroom stops or a night in a hotel.
And usually without seat-belts. (Once my older brother and I spent the entire 750 miles curled up in sleeping bags in the back of my dad’s truck. When it started raining, he was kind enough to buy us a tarp. That adventure was truly a highlight of my childhood, but now as a parent it horrifies me.)
Lack of technology notwithstanding, there were still plenty of ways to pass the long, long time in the car.
My brothers and I ate lots of candy and drank sodas (but we called it pop), purchased at 7-11s and truck stops along the way.
We read books, colored, and played the license plate game.
We made pillow beds in the car and napped. I usually ended up trying to negotiate a comfortable rest with the hump on the backseat floor.
And when those things got tiresome, we fought.
It was a long twelve hours. But exciting too, for at the end of the trip lived both sets of grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and hours of fun.
30 tiny moments: day 16
These were scattered all over my table this morning (and, yes, she did make one for herself). All those lovely cards will be living on the top of my refrigerator for about a week (in case Abby asks about them), and then when no one is looking, they will be thrown away.
I have received my fair share of Valentines in my life. Do you remember the thrill of the class party? Putting your cards in your classmates bags decorated in Art earlier in the week? And then opening all your cards to judge who liked you best by the quality of their Valentine and whether they attached candy? Or was that only me?
Out of all the Valentines I have received, one, only one, stands out in my memory. I was in second grade and it was from Billy Sukow. The words “Happy Valentine’s Day, Cowgirl!” were emblazoned across a cartoon picture of a girl wearing red boot and a ten-gallon hat. (And clothes too. Billy Sukow was a very nice boy.) I remember asking my mom, “I wonder how he knew I’m half cowgirl?”
You see, my dad is an old country-boy and I knew that he had done something in the rodeo as a young man (ride bulls? announce? clean-up doodie duty?). I guess I thought cowboy was an ethnic group (it isn’t?) and therefore I was half.
I had a crush on Billy for years for that…
Do you remember any particular Valentine?
