The kids were off school this past Friday for their spring break, and David took off work so that we could do something as a family. I don’t know what it’s like in your world, but in ours there are times where all the red flags start flying and we realize that we need a “reset” day: just some time together to do something a bit different, something that means we get to hang out together, experiencing something new–and something that, hopefully, will require lots and lots of walking so as to tire the kids out so they sleep in the next day. (It’s all for the kids, I tell you.) So, this past Friday we decided on a road trip to Washington, D.C., with the idea of seeing some dinosaur bones. We drove a couple hours into Maryland from our house in Pennsylvania, then surprised our suburban children with their first Metro ride (those initial moments of the train ride were the most exciting 30 seconds of their day…until they realized that they were going to look at nothing but dark tunnel walls for the next…
You guys. My kids: they’re so sweet and kind and loving–but they need to work on their compliments. Example #1: I’ve stopped straightening my hair most days and am just letting the crazy waves be themselves. I’m still not too sure about living daily life looking like a knockoff Medusa, but the consensus from my girls is that I need to keep it this way, since it’s more “me.” I thought this was a good thing, but… …from Saoirse: “Mom. I like your hair longer. Now that you’re wearing your hair frizzy you should keep it that way.” Yep. Great. Example #2: First, you need to know 3 things: a) Our old house had a pool. We miss that pool very, very much; b) Quinlan loves that I’m a writer. She actually gets annoyed when she doesn’t see me overwhelmed and unwashed surrounded by notes and manuscript pages; and c) Most authors don’t make enough money to quit their day jobs, let alone afford extravagances. A child of one, though, has no concept of this. So… …Quinlan: “Mom. You need to…
I told David recently that sometimes my idea of a heaven–a true heaven, entirely imagined but wholly a real place where we go when we die and live forever and ever, amen–would be the chance to relive our lives, exactly how they were, just without all the mistakes: none of the yelling. None of the gossiping. No fights, no personal cold wars, no shunned friends or hurt family members or crying children. It would be a chance to live our lives exactly how they’re supposed to be lived, in Ideal Land, where the children know they’re loved and you’ve never hurt anyone and you never go to bed at the end of the day cringing over that thing you said or that moment you let slip away. It would be a place where you made sure your neighbor knew you cared, and where you ensured the hungry were fed, and where you never turned away from someone trying to meet your eyes. It’d be a place where, if hurt or offended or upset, we’d get to react or move forward or jump past the pain in…