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Posts Tagged ‘kids’

Summer – In a Word

September 3, 2013 1 comment

images

It’s the generalization I have trouble with. And it’s always the summer. When was the last time you casually asked someone, how was your winter?

When people ask me tomorrow, on the first day of school, “How was your summer?”, as is friendly and customary, I’m momentarily confounded.

First of all, I have trouble remembering last week, never mind a two month period. Three months, if you want to get technical, but that hearkens us back to June and June is always a white-out . A cupcake laden, certificate wielding (best reader/runner/joker/slacker) month of gift bags of wine for teaching/driving my child/managing the team/feeding my family. Surely, June can’t count as summer.

Really what they mean is how was your July and August, the time since I last saw them. August was really only 4 days ago, if I need to break it down. I can get there, that’s not so far. July is a stretch, but August is doable. An image is coming – a soccer ball, a concert, sushi takeout. Okay, so that was the Labour Day weekend, not exactly August, but close enough.

It will do in a pinch.

My short-term memory aside, I couldn’t possibly summarize my summer in the three words it will take to past my acquaintance, so I leave it at “Great!”. Although not strictly true, there were moments of great, alongside those moments of frustration and wanting to clone myself.

Summer is never as idyllic as I hope. Or as simple as the name suggests. But it’s inevitable end is tempered by those three magical words.

Back. To. School.

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A Nauseatingly Warm and Fuzzy Story About my Kid

October 21, 2011 10 comments

Sometimes, in fact almost all of the time, the magic of motherhood can be lost somewhere between packing the lunches and shuttling to soccer. There is a fair amount of work required in rearing children, and by work I mean constant nagging. Make your bed, stop texting, feed your fish, stop texting, eat something green, stop... Honestly, I can hardly stand myself by the end of the day. I don’t know how they put up with me.

But occasionally, something sweet and tender happens that is absolutely divine, and I want to freeze time. Generally, I feel these cute-kid stories are overdone, and therefore I shy away from them (but you can’t say I didn’t warn you with the title).

My husband returned from a business trip yesterday. On the way to gymnastics the kids were musing about what little gift he would bring them. Yes, I wonder what he’s bringing me, I joked. My oldest daughter immediately picked up her phone to text him a warning that I was hoping for a present. I laughed, and told them I was kidding, I didn’t really want a present. My youngest daughter said solemnly, I’m going to make you a present anyway, Mummy. I told her a hug from her was all I wanted (my originality is not at its peak that time of the day).

While I was making dinner, she was conspicuously absent, whereas usually she is underfoot. She finally emerged from her room with a piece of paper, laden with her writing.

Why I love my mom - the front

...the back

Here it is, transcribed with her creative spelling:

from Ella

Why I love my mom

1. She bys stuf for me

2. She loves me

3. She takes kare of me

4. She comeforts me

5. She buys me food

6. She gets me toys even when she dose not want to

7. She touks me in at niuht

8. She sins me up for camp and attivitey

9. She helps me whith math

10. She helps me sleep

11. She buys some stuf for crismess and a bunch of other stuf

12. She gives me money

13. She gave me a houes

14. She gets me brthday

15. She payes alot of mouney

16. She gets me stoueys (stories)

I flipped the paper over, and on the back she wrote a poem.

every night I sing a song

about How I love my mom. And

How she gives me vegtbaball

whith out her Id be so fat!

I love her whith all

my mite and I love you

so mouch that Id clim a ben soukc (which she told me was bean sprout)

(and then she drew a picture of her and the bean sprout.)

At the wise age of seven, she was perceptive enough to see through my rather pathetic ploy for recognition. Her gift made me speechless, which perhaps was the real goal – to dissuade me from nagging for an evening.

Stop growing, stay little, I whisper to her when she’s asleep.