this is a page for

Category: Learning Curve

We Talkin’ About the Game (with apologies to Allen)*

* Because you know this was running through my head the entire time I was writing this post. To say my mom has rebounded from the flu nicely is like saying an ice cream sundae is best made with hot fudge: holy understatement, Batman. She is sharp, and stronger than she’s been in months, thanks to a heady dose of new steroids that reduced brain swelling we didn’t even realize was still bad. Her synapses must have gotten some incredible kind of all-clear, because she is zip-zip-ziping around her house like her walker is made of rocket fuel. I joked that we all have whiplash: one week we’re all convinced that This is It, and the next, well: in the next week she’s drinking a glass of white wine in a restaurant and using chopsticks to eat her sushi. It’s pretty fantastic. We didn’t see her either day of this past weekend. Quinlan was playing in the end-of-the-season CYO novice girls’ basketball tournament, with David as her head coach, and since there were 18 teams in the bracket, we played four games…

Long Eyes: On Seeing the Big Picture (and Not Embarrassing the Kids)

It’s Thursday, and the weather has finally cooled enough here that you can walk outside without the humidity slobbering all over you like a drunk date. David drove the girls to school this morning, so Cian and I took the dog for a walk around the neighborhood before I got ready for work (more on that in another post–I’m still writing from home, but my approach to it has changed). As we rounded the block, Cian was looking for our house–he really wanted to know what the back of it looked like from down the hill. Finally, he spotted it: “There it is! That’s our house, right?” Now, I’ve needed glasses since I was five. “You can see that far?” I asked, totally impressed–and maybe a little jealous–by this kid of mine with perfect vision.”Yup!” he said. He was skipping. “I have long eyes.” Long eyes. Oh, to have long eyes. For the past few months, whenever I’ve sat down to write something here, I’ve stalled. I write half-finished drafts…

Somebody Better Go Grab the Band-Aids

My children have a way of forcing out of my comfort zone. Not that I’m a total scaredy-cat, but there is something about getting a bit older, and having tiny people in your care, and realizing that your bones don’t quite bounce they way they did when you were eight that can make someone a bit more, well, staid. Careful. And dare I say? Boring.But kids–the same kids that have ruined air travel for me forever (my mind goes into hyperdrive: how many thousands of feet up in the air is my family, exactly? And there’s only one guaranteed result if the plane stops working?) are the same ones that push me, without realizing it, to get back to that same eight-year-old Leah who would race down a gravel hill on her new bike, hands in the air, not caring a whit that she hadn’t yet learned how to use the brakes (and, granted, that ride ended with me doing an aerial somersault over my handlebars in an accident so harrowing even the neighborhood bully came racing over to see if I was okay). Because children…