In the parent hood

It's the last day of our grueling school week (only 3 actual class days) and people (my kids) are CRABBY. Oh, they like it well enough. However, the only comment Ben could muster about his first three days was this, "My teacher has smoov (smoothe) hair."

We've been lazy--sleeping in until 6:45 all summer and that 6:15 wake up call that is currently still exciting has already shown signs of fading when I prompted Ben awake and he rolled over muttering, " I don't fink so."

My days are quick. Polite people enter the book store and look at me kindly and show appreciation for any help I can give them. I am giddy with this thing that almost feels like affection. I switch gears at 2:30 and prepare for the onslaught of what I like to term "soft abuse"--whining, indignant requests for this and denials for doing that. Ben attacks me with hugs- he can't tone it down--he's been reigning it in all day. I am a sponge for all that pent-up angst.

Despite the drama, I see that perhaps even if I never publish a book or teach a class again, I have done something-- I have kids who light up when they see me. Besides a spa week in Hawaii, what more could I want?

From bones to bells

In one day, I experienced two firsts. I took my eldest to get her first cast on a fractured wrist due to an adventure down on the farm in Iowa. More than anything, the COLOR of the cast seemed to dominate the visit. Growth plates, be damned! What color will this cast be? Try as I might, I couldn't get the doc to crack a smile (no, it wasn't her dad) and I aborted the mission after my third attempt. I did see the student suppress a grin as though he wasn't sure he should or not. The child was nonplussed and thoroughly elated with her electric pink accessory and is desperately seeking Sharpies.

I ended my day with a 12 minues Fat Blast using kettle bells. There is a lot wrong with that sentence. If I could blast my fat in 12 minutes I would not be toiling on this blog. I would have pulicists and agents to attend to and speaking engagements to prepare for, but some crazy women I know wanted to show me Kettle Bells. At 9:30 p.m. I found my self swinging some weird 12 pound weight while a perky and fully abbed-out chick kept saying, "You're almost there." Where? is what I wanted to know. On the path to freedom from fat? Sunny San Diego where you are taping this damn thing? I didn't feel on my way to anywhere--except on my way to get an ice pack for my sore arms.

As I have said more than once, I can't make this stuff up. Adventure seems to stalk me.

Gone, babies gone.

Everyone probably thinks I am clicking my heels. And perhaps my step is a bit lighter, but the first day of school is always a little weird. Everyone is so excited, but I also feel a bit sad. Ben didn't think I needed to stand there to witness them getting on the bus. "We're big kids, mom." Oh. Well, I stayed anyway and he held my hand anyway so that was something.

Perhaps it's because while it is our adventure, it really is their adventure and it baffles me to think there are parts of their lives that I just don't know. One day you can time your child's bathroom habits and the next day, they are off in the free world listening (hopefully) to others tell them what to do. It's great and it's odd and it's what you've wanted and now it's here and it's great and it's odd.

"Will you meet us at the bus stop after school?" says Lucy Goose.
"Do you want me to?"
"Just today. You know we are big kids now, mom."
So I've been told. But I'll be there.