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Leah Ferguson

Yeah, About That

I was cleaning up some dishes, getting ready to finish dinner.  It’d been a glorious, brilliant fall day–like something out of a movie, with a clear blue sky and leaves crumbling underfoot and the smell of someone’s fireplace in the air.  I’d just come in with the girls, where we’d been outside, pushing them on their swings in the backyard.  They were playing together (together!) with some cars and books in the living room, quietly, contentedly. “Hey, Saoirse,” I said, suddenly curious. “Yes, Mom?” “What do you like to do most in the world?  What’s your favorite thing?” “Swinging!” No surprise, there.  I smiled at the two, sitting side by side, rolling the cars around the coffee table. “What’s your least favorite thing?  What do you not like doing at all?” “Sharing.” I looked a little more closely.  Saoirse had taken Quinn’s toy and replaced it with one of her own.  Another moment later would find her throwing a train across the room and hip-checking her little sister away from the…

In the Spirit of Things

Our township holds Trick-or-Treat Night always on a Thursday, no matter on what day Halloween actually falls.  Yeah, I don’t understand either. That night, David took our eldest daughter out into the wind and rain and cold to greet the neighbors while I stayed home with a ladybug with a runny nose.  SK was giddy to wear her purple princess dress, complete with random sparkly butterfly wings (I know, I know.  David wanted her to be Buzz Lightyear.  I was hoping for maybe a cute bumble bee costume, but alas, she asked for a wand.  A wand and a crown, to be exact.  Damn you, preschool, and your dress-up corner.) They returned home about an hour and a half later, flushed, excited.  SK was anxious to delve into her treats, and I was curious to hear about everything we missed. Me:  “So, Saoirse Kate, did you tell a lot of people what kind of princess you were?” SK:  “No.  I just wanted to get to the candy.” Happy Halloween, everybody…

Can’t Get that Queen Song Out of My Head

And the second one’s down. On Day 2 of Daughter the Elder’s full-blown cold, Daughter the Younger came down with a fever, congestion, and middle-of-the- night barfing, thereby making me very aware of three realities: 1.  There are very few things that can shake a mother up like witnessing that horrible glassy-eyed stare of a child with a fever.  You know it’s coming–she suddenly has no appetite, she keeps shoving her fist against her mouth, she’s begging for hugs like a child faced with the mall Santa at Christmastime.  But then the fever hits, and the alarm on the thermometer goes off, and you reach for the medication, and your heart is racing.  The.  Pits. 2.   Barfing is gross, especially when your poor child is too young to get to a bucket/toilet/trash can before she barfs, and she’s forced to crawl through it before she starts crying for you.  It’s really gross.  And when the child who just emptied the contents of her stomach all over her face and hands wants to give you grateful kisses, well, what are you…