How’s everyone coping with the end of Daylight Savings Time? It was still dark and the wee hours of the morning when J woke up, got dressed, and hustled downstairs to get ready for school before she was sent back upstairs to sleep some more. This happened twice. After the second time, J groused, “I need to remember to look at my clock.” Wise words indeed.
J’s opened up a hospital underneath our coffee table. A couple of stuffed animals were injured and in need of stitching up by me, but afterwards, I guess J decided that they required some IV assistance:
Did she ask me before she suspended two bottles of food-coloring-dyed water just over my living room rug? No, she didn’t. But I’m a sucker for creative pretend play, especially when she ropes big sister M into playing, too. I’ll take this over Hay Day on the iPod anytime.
Although, truth be told, I spent a good 15 or 20 minutes last week learning about Hay Day. J finds it so intoxicating that I asked her to show me the game, and we were still looking when M arrived home, so of course she had to give me a virtual tour of her farm, too. And it’s cute. But I still prefer pretend-hospital.
M and I have a school book-club event tonight. It’s got her frustrated because she didn’t love the book (The Forgotten Door) and it conflicts with her beloved soccer practice, which has changed times since we committed. When I brought up this conflict she was way ahead of me: yes, it sucked, but she’d committed and she wasn’t about to disappoint this teacher with her absence. She can really be surprisingly grown-up. I feel like I’m constantly underestimating her. On Saturday there were a row of 6th-grade boys watching her soccer game and yelling boisterously, and I was afraid that she was distracted or mortified, because that’s how 6th grade me would have felt. She hadn’t even noticed–she was too busy getting outraged at the opponent who kept grabbing her jersey. At eleven, M is on such a steeper coolness trajectory than eleven-year-old Katie ever was that it’s almost comical.
I’ve felt a bit stymied lately, blog-wise. The girls are old enough that it’s not as easy to chuckle about funny things that they do for fear that someone will find it humiliating. When there’s school or friend drama, it’s tough to write about it in an honest way when there are teachers at school and friends’ moms who read the blog. So that’s slowed me down. Plus, we’re so busy with our same ol’, same ol’ activities (soccer, gymnastics, school, more soccer, more gymnastics, more school) that it’s difficult to check out a variety of activities like I used to do when the girls were littler and more pliable and I was trying to keep us active and stimulated. So I know I’ve been a bit off, blog-wise. I think I’m going to try to come up with some golden-oldey parenting stories that I haven’t talked about on the blog already–there must be some, right?
What else. . . umm, I’m starting to freak out about the holidays. I don’t know why I’m going into freakout mode so early, except it might be that I’ve already got Save-the-Dates and conflicting travel plans and a whole lot of uncertainty with our usual stuff (no specifics on when we have soccer games or gymnastics meets). So there are competing demands plus the whole over-arching desire to not let all of the busy-ness interfere with the joy and wonder. Because I love the holidays, and I love relishing the joy and wonder. And that’s a lot easier if you’re not scrambling at the last minute.