You made your way up the ladder, and then stood, trembling, on the end of the board for what seemed like an eternity. Then, finally, if you didn’t fink out, you screwed up enough courage to take the step off into the deep.
My kids are lucky enough to have a kinder, gentler version of this experience. On their last day of swim lessons, every child had a chance to jump off with their instructor. Like tandem skydiving, they counted to three, and then took the plunge together. Neko couldn’t have been more excited with herself.
When the weather crept over 50 degrees and the sun came out, we all rejoiced.
Although it’s gorgeous, I think I might be reaching my fill of the snow.
We shuffled everyone outside. Tom and I were focused on winter clean-up. Between the snow and the wind, there’s debris as far as the eye can see. The upside of the snow? It was a nice little blanket over a sea of hard work.
As we were gathering sticks, Neko was eyeing the cart. The minute we left it unattended, Neko claimed it, and conned Ellery into being her passenger. Ellery later decided it was balmy enough to merit a bathing suit and flip flops.
And then a few minutes later she revised it to a bathing suit, flip flops…and a blanket.
Neko came home from school the other day with a big frown.
When I asked what was wrong, she grumbled that today in class she was the only one who didn’t know her phone number.
I know. I KNOW. That’s stuff I should have taught them in preschool. I had this big plan that I would sing it every day in the car on the way to school, but then on the way to school we were making sure everyone had their lunch and backpack and then they were out the door. We really don’t live that far from school, and I’m not really on my A game in the morning, so maybe that wasn’t the best plan.
And then I thought maybe we’d recite it over dinner every night.
But it never happened, and suddenly I’m the guilt-ridden parent of three children who don’t know their own phone number. (They know their address—do I get points for that?)
As I wallowed in my self-pity, I wandered over to my blog feed and read about my friend Kate D., who in the midst of her three children’s sickness, began writing the times of their medications on the bathroom mirror to keep them all straight. And then I had my a-ha moment. Why not write our phone number on their bathroom mirror? Then every time they wash their hands or brush their teeth, they’ll see it. Ultimately, it has to sink in, right?
Two days later, and two of the three can recite their phone number from memory.
I think next I’m moving on to the word of the day or tricky math problems. Or quantum physics.
(On a side note, I think it’s time replace the bathroom word labels.)
Granted, she’s taking lessons, but most of what she does on the ice is improvised, based on what she’s seen the older girls do. It’s like when we used to go dancing in college—I always had that one friend who hit the dance floor and with such gusto, but made it look effortless.
When I watch her whirling around out there, I wonder how I can soak up her fearless determination. I adore how she musters up everything she’s got and just goes for it.
On the heels of finishing Catwings, Neko picked up a marker and wrote a story.
To some, this may not seem out of the ordinary, but this child has not exactly enthusiastically embraced reading and writing yet. (Skating, skiing, chickens, and the name of every animal she’s ever laid her eyes on—that’s another discussion.)
At moments like this, we very intentionally do not correct spelling. There’s a time and a place for that, and it certainly is not when one is writing simply for pleasure. I have stood fast by my philosophy that if we don’t force it down her throat, one day she will do it out of love and desire.
I believe that day is approaching fast.
On a side note, she taught herself cursive. Clearly, the way to her writing heart will be partly a graphic one. But I suppose she comes by that honestly, eh?
I can’t get the kids to leave the house. All they want to do is stay in their pajamas and hang out at home. I suppose this is what happens now that they’re all in school for at least part of the week—they value their time at home. Although their pajamas are getting a bit stinky (we try to change them at least every 24 hours), I’m thrilled they want to be here. I can’t imagine having children who want to be anywhere but home.
Yesterday they built this massive fort in the basement. (Which I really need to document.) Today I set up a whole table of pouring and transferring activities, splooshing water from one container to another. With all that water out, suddenly Neko had the critter container where Leaper the toad spent a good deal of time this summer. With spring on the horizon, she decided she need to clean to cage.
Soon she and Ellery were scrubbing and cleaning. (As promised, they washed and dried all the dishes they used to accomplish this, which was, um, a lot.) Then Neko turned the whole thing into a jellyfish aquarium, drawing on Ziploc bags with Sharpies and filling them full of water. It was eerily lifelike, bobbing around.
By afternoon, Mary Beth and Nancy came to visit, bearing cake pops, which lasted about 4.6 minutes after they walked in the door. (Delicious.)
And that’s not even half of what went down. Someday I’m going to take one day and record every weird thing we do from dawn to dusk. And you will all die from either boredom or exhaustion. But I feel compelled to do it just so my children know why I yawned my way through their childhood.
In January the school district has a teacher in-service day. It’s a day that few other schools in the area have off.
Last year I decided it would be the perfect day to take Neko skiing, as I figured the slopes would be pretty empty—and I was right! Nancy and Mary Beth came along, and we had an amazing day.
This year, Nancy had to work, so Neko and I went solo. Someone had a small anxiety attack shortly before we hit the slopes, and almost refused to go. Thank goodness, Bill the Amazing Ski Instructor was there to greet us, so I slipped Neko into his class for the first hour.
After the class, she was ready for the green hill. After we skiied the green hill a few times, she decided she was ready for the blue hill. We switched between three different blue runs for the rest of the day, and now my seven-year-old is a better skiier than I am.
Parenthood—it is nothing if not humbling.
We capped off the day with a few trips down the tubing hill. As we sailed down the hill, I thought to myself how wonderful this was. I miss those little baby snuggles, but what a joy to have this whole person to hang with for the day.
Sadly, I committed the cardinal photography sin, and forgot to charge my camera battery. It died on the first photo, so all I have are these photos from my phone. And someone refused to let me take her photo close up, so you’ll have to just look at that little speck of her in the second photo and trust that we were there.
Special thanks to Barb and Kendall who took care of Shep and Ellery today, and to Tom who helped with transportation. It was a bit of scheduling gymnastics to make it all come together, but so very worth it.
Neko has been pretending she’s a reindeer today. Although we managed to convince her to wash off her black reindeer nose, she insisted on going to sleep in her antlers.
You have to appreciate her commitment to her craft.
The kids have not left the property since Friday. In fact, they really haven’t left the house since then.
I had an all-day training session yesterday, so they had friends come over. Today, Tom had a meeting. I tried to convince the kids to go somewhere, but I couldn’t get anyone moving.
Around 2pm I ordered everyone to put their coats and hats over their pajamas—we were going outside.
For a long time we ended up in the pole barn, leaping over the wide gap between hay bales. Climbing on the tractor. Vitamin D quota for the day—check.
