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Category: Family Life

Round Two

I should be grateful that I get to spend some one-on-one-time with my youngest daughter, I know. I should feel blessed that we can swing these mom-and-me gym classes while solidly denting the bank, but not breaking it. I should be excited to spend 45 minutes without laundry or chores or errands, just watching Quinn crawl up those short stairs, and roll around a ball pit, and toss a basketball toward a little hoop. But this is what makes me want to bang my head against the padded gym walls. Because I haven’t drunk enough coffee for small talk at 9:30 in the morning. And Quinn starts crying halfway through the gym class because she just gets so–pardon my French, but if you saw her, you’d understand–pissed off that she can’t walk around like the other toddlers. And I wonder if it was really worth putting on mascara for this today, or if I should have just stayed in my gym shorts, because they were way more comfortable than the pants I’m wearing. But then she turns around to look for me…

You’d Say It’s a Real Kick in the Pants

SK had her first soccer class Saturday, thereby signing the papers on my official status as a modern suburban mother.  There’s no chance of even pretending you’re still a free agent when you’ve got “soccer mom”  listed among your stats. I’m locked in, baby. When do I get my own jersey? Alas, I picked up a few important items from this half-hour session that morning: 1. Good golly, I could easily become “that” mom. Do you know how many times I had to bite my tongue and force myself to stay in my seat every time the coach asked Saoirse her name (“SEERSH!” she’d matter-of-factly exclaim, not realizing, thankfully, that her formal name is strange enough to most people, let alone the nickname we call her around the house), and the coach would struggle with understanding her–I could see her checking her roster, trying to reconcile what she was hearing with the letters on the list–before just politely smiling and calling her “you.” The coach did finally break down and call out to the crowd…

Becoming Her Wingman

I sat down with Quinn last night to read her a book before bedtime. It was quiet, her room was lit by just one tiny lamp, and she was all warm from her bath and comfortable in fresh pajamas and just-washed hair that, thanks to her new shampoo, smelled just enough like honey to be pleasant without reminding me that I planned on making waffles for breakfast this morning. I could actually hear my brain sigh with relief as we settled down in the glider together for a few restful moments. Yeah, right. No sooner than we closed that book did my beautiful child start grunting and twisting in a pretty impressive effort to wriggle her way from my arms, out of my lap and down my legs to the floor, where she took off way more quickly than a child who still crawls should ever be able to move. She opened her door, threw one glance at me over her shoulder with a laugh that sounded an awful lot like “Bwahaha–gotchyou again, suckah!” and went careening down the hallway–her arms and legs going thumpthumpthump on the hardwood like a car that&#8217…