Ah, fall. Shorts, a hoodie and hot chocolate. How I love thee!
The gaping hole staple incident all covered up. Nice choice of bright red bandage, no? (and, uh, ignore my sad state of feet...end of summer is not kind!)
While we sit and wait for Daddy, Sammy loves hoping on one foot back and forth - he's even made up a little game to go with it. It kind of cracks me up.
My pretty, pretty apple tree. We won't talk about the nectarine tree, though. Dagnabit.
Have I mentioned how much it rocks that my kid can now write?
I'm a pretty neurotic mom. I get that. I hover, I remind, I expect. BUT. Because of it, my kid is respectful and kind and cleans up after himself. He asks before doing things or getting things. He's observant of his world and funny as, well, the class clown. Because of our parenting style, I know the trade off is that many of his friend's homes might seem a lot more fun. Fuller, more vibrant. A little more lax. I get that. And it can make me fidgety at times, thinking he may prefer somewhere else over home.
Yesterday, Sammy went home after school with a friend for a play date. Setting aside my "Holy crap, my baby is going home with someone else after school and not in my car" anxiety, my friend told me what they were planning. A picnic at the play ground and homemade play dough (which turned into buttons and those fuzzy craft bendy things...what are those?). She tried to play it down, but...here's the thing. My kid is pretty artsy. We saw his art camp teacher last weekend and she said (and I quote!) "I'm so happy to meet you! Sammy was just one of my favorites to teach. He has such an artistic side and he's so funny! I was always amazed at the things he came up with to say. He wasn't loud, but always funny." And Sammy's 'blessed' with parents who are NOT artsy. At all. So I get a little funny when he's introduced to a very arty house. Not that I think he'll suddenly hate home, exactly, but...just that he'll start to find me lacking earlier than I'm prepared for. See how our little rhythms could be more.
He came home after his play date and told me how much fun he had. They played and ate and were creative and he loved it. And then he said, "It was really loud there. Really loud. And they fought. And kept hurting themselves and crying. And loud. It's not loud here." And then he gave me the biggest hug and told me how much he loved it here because it was calm. I was so happy I nearly burst into tears!
So we may unapologetically love t.v. And, well, you all know how I feel about over-scheduling and 'extras'. Especially since Sammy had his first extra this summer with art camp (if you exclude the tumblingclassfromhell, which I do...). But we DO have a lot of family time - time together. We laugh and dance and joke. Sammy has learned to be analytical and think things through. He's learned to question everything. He loves to write and has an obsession with notebooks. We cook and run errands and have the tightest group of three. So we may not be arty. We not be super-parents. I may not do crafts, but we laugh and joke and bond.
And I shouldn't discount all of that. We always think that they'll see green grass on the other side, especially in the areas we feel inadequate. It's refreshing to have home as a haven validated. Maybe we're doing something right after all. Yay home!
I'm assuming the rest of the world (save Seattle) isn't getting as much news on the disappearance of Susan Powell as we are. And, honestly, I'm trying very desperately NOT to read everything I have available to me on the subject, but it's just SO hard to look away.
Sometimes a story comes along that a) reminds me of why I love journalism and reminds me that anything coming out of my imagination could not be this strange and twisty and b) is so unbelievable I'm gobsmacked it's really happening. Every day, lately, there is something new. It's hard to keep up with all of it. But all of these stories feel differently, this time. All of the pseudo news conferences, the searching, the FIL crazy turn of events and arrest. I feel caught up in a story on the precipice of cracking and I'm helpless against the armchair detectives the entire state have turned in to (Did the FIL kill her? Were the son and father in it together? What else is going to coming out??). It's always under the surface, for everyone I talk with, heads shaking and eyes wide and bewilderment reigning supreme.
Truth getting more and more stranger than fiction every day. I hope it all ends soon.
-Taken a chunk out of my thumb on the tub of my washer -Massaged a bee that had made its home in my tub of blackberries -Sent my child to bed without dinner to the tune of "I'm really mad at Mommy" -Developed a sore throat and wonky sinuses -Shoved a staple, that was hanging down under my ottoman, under my big toenail, leaving a gaping hole where the flesh should be
