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Category: Family Life

Next Time I’m Just Turning on Clifford

David and I have made a conscious effort to not book our children for every class, program and flying trapeze seminar that’s offered in our area. Honest. When I taught, I saw firsthand how a jam-packed life could stress out a young person. And in the last couple years, I’ve seen two-year-olds who are cranky, overtired and whiny because they’re being rushed from one class to another to preschool to Target, then back home just to do it all again after nap time. It stressed me out just typing that. So with our own girls, we’ve been walking on the more relaxed side of the calendar-keeping. They each do an activity a couple days a week, and the rest of the time is free for getting together with friends, or running errands, or–gasp!–just hanging around the house, playing. Our bank account certainly prefers it this way, and I’d always assumed the girls, especially Saoirse, were happy, too. Until today. Actually, it’s been often lately I’ve noticed Saoirse becoming (dare I say it?), well, bored. Yes, she’ll…

Extreme Makeover: Yard Edition

David and I are in the middle of gutting our landscaping. Are you jealous? Yeah, I didn’t think so. We live in an older home (we throw around words like “character” and “charm” a lot when we talk about the house, so you can probably guess the age of it…). And I think when you buy a house with some years behind it, you have to be prepared that the yard might, well, soon be in desperate need of a face lift. But five years ago we were new homeowners. To say we weren’t prepared is like suggesting that someone who can’t ride a bike should probably rethink that triathlon. And besides, I sort of hesitate to use the word “landscaping” when I talk about our yard. Wanna know why? Example A: the previous owners had stuck little black wrought iron fences haphazardly around the front and side yards and then had the audacity/funny idea/sadistic nerve to surround them with daylilies. Mound upon mound of daylilies which multiplied so quickly that by our second summer in the house we were weeping bitter tears from allergy…

A Toast and a Sippy Cup

Went to dinner last night.  David, me, Daughters Elder and Younger, that is, along with my mom and brother.  We wanted to do something to remember David’s dad, who passed away two years ago at the age of way-too-young.  In my family, remembering means eating, so eating we did (quite honestly, it also involves drinking–a toast, as it were–but not nearly as much as the eating). I kind of have to chuckle at how we’re still adamant about trying to–at least occasionally–combine our old, young-people-about-the-town personae with our present family.  Like last night, for instance, we went to a Belgian restaurant because David’s dad was of French descent, and Belgium was about as close as we could get.  We were surrounded by tables filled with couples, girlfriends, work buddies–all adults–and, of course, drawing attention with our two small–albeit awesomely well-behaved–girls.  David and I barely exchanged two words with each other, what with all the cutting of food, ordering of milk, wiping of spills.  But, by golly, we did it.  Just like…