Strike one!
She hits!
Just after I took this, one of her running shoes fell off. She kept going, but stopped on first base and, very confused, looked back at her shoe while the first base coach exhorted her to run to second.
And reunited with her running shoe, thanks to her coach, who retrieved it for her.
If you are in or near Western North Carolina, you must make a special trip to our downtown library, Pack Memorial Library. There, you must walk down the long hallway next to the library and admire the gorgeous 111 photographs taped to the windows, representing a Day in the Live of Asheville, April 14, 2007. There is also a nice display of fotogs shooting during the day plus an explanation of the project and press. It’s amazing. DILOA rocks!
According to my girl, root canals rock. The procedure was no problemo. The girl bounced back into the endodontist’s examination room, leaving me in the waiting room. I was not prepared to be left in the waiting room, but the assistant told me I had to stay there, which kind of freaked me out, because it made it seem like REAL surgery. The only times I have not been in the room with my kids when they’ve had ANY kind of examination or procedure was when they had one of their several ENT surgeries (ear, nose, and throat, for those of you who aren’t parents or doctors).
So, while I chewed on Lifesavers and ripped recipes out of old copies of Food & Wine, the girl giggled with her endodontist. Half an hour later, the endo, an attractive young woman, comes to tell me that the procedure was successful and the girl was a star patient.
Then the girl appears and says: “I mastered root canals.” Though she pronounces “canals” like “ca-nalllls.” Which is damn cute.
We headed home and she ate a soft dinner of mac & cheese and then went to softball practice. No pain. No fear. She’s slept in the T-shirt the endo gave her every night since. She rocks.
The sentence parents dread the most is: “So, what are we gonna do now?”
Okay, maybe it’s really, “I’m pregnant,” or “I wrecked your car,” or “I’m bleeding,” or “I hate you.” But those sentences mostly issue from the mouths of kids older than mine.
The sentence I dread the most is: “So, Mom, what are we gonna do now?”
I’ve been thinking about this sentence a lot as summer approaches. I have three or four weeks of summer camp set up for my kidlings, and we’ll also spend two separate weeks at the beach (one with my Mom, one with my Dad and his wife). But for a lot of summertime, we’ll be together–the three of us, me and my kids, we three.
For my son, hanging out at home is how life is best spent. He likes adventure and trips, but he also likes puttering around at home. He LIKES playing in his room with his toys. He likes coloring. He likes the swingset. He even likes helping out with chores.
My girl, on the other hand, wants to go, go, go. She has relaxed a bit since she learned to read, and to read actual novels (although I’m not sure if the Captain Underpants series fits into that genre). Even so, she wants people and action. She likes sports and games–stuff that necessitates two or more people to play. As long as the boys who live across the street are around, her life is good. But if they’re gone, I’d better have a playdate or an adventure planned for her. Or be ready to play a mind-numbing two-hour round of Battleship.
My kids are three years apart in age, and, for the most part, they adore each other. They also fight like Huns, particularly when they’re bored or tired, or when the boy won’t do what his big sister wants him to do. So, they adore each other for about ten percent of the time. The other 90, they’d prefer to attack each other. At least when they’re around me. They seem to turn into little angels when they don’t have the comforting fallback of parental presence. I can always tell how comfortable they are around someone by how open they are about fighting in front of them.
So here’s what my summer looks like: Mom, what are we gonna do now?; screeching, scratching sibling drama; sand, sunscreen, and shark-infested surf; mega-taxi mom time; and work, when I can fit it in.
Damn, I’m tired of summer already. What will your summer look like?
After my first night alone in my home last week, I woke up to find this critter at the foot of my bed (E was on a biz trip, kids were at Grandparent Camp in Hotlanta). Obviously, it was dead, and, in fact, blessed with advanced rigor mortis, quite unlike the 18-inch garter snake that the cats left by the front door yesterday. I was bringing the kids home from school and we all three walked in the door and saw the snake at about the same time. After prodding it a couple times, I ascertained that it was dead, or at least deeply in shock. I learned that I was wrong, however, when I picked it up and it spazzed out and wrapped itself around my arm. Which caused me to spaz out and throw it on the floor where it quickly slithered under a chest of drawers while the kids shrieked. It was like a fricking horror movie.
I made the kids go watch a video to calm them down (necessary drugging) while I moved the chest, managed to corral the snake into a cardboard box and dumped it in the garden. The cats have yet to re-catch it. I like garter snakes, just not in my house.
Anyway, anyone know what this rodenty critter pictured above is? It was as long as my hand (about 5 inches), so much bigger than a mole, I think. Is this a vole?
I know all you parents want to read more about the toy craze that’s making your kids whiny. Here’s my article on those crazy Webkinz.
I’ve been totally caught up in posting photos for Day in the Life of Ashvegas. Here’s my slideshow. Here’s the photo group of everyone’s shots. Amazing, really, what a cool, talented, dedicated group of folks can capture in one short day.
My joy in my friends and this town has been sadly overshadowed by the horrendous event at Virginia Tech today. Our hearts ache…
More than 50 folks armed with cameras will be hitting the streets of Ashvegas in just a few hours for the “A Day in the Life of Asheville” project.
For more information, visit our hawt Flickr site.
Please extend all possible courtesies to our photographers. See ya out there!
1. fitten
N. A contraction of the phrase “Fat Kitten”, meaning just that. This is a word meaning large, obese, or fat cat; usually refers to a female cat.
“Dude, that cat Starko is such a fitten.”
