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Category: Learning Curve

Just One Sentence

I look back at some of my old posts-the ones I put up way back in the olden days, when my first child was an only and I was tired and overwhelmed and just a little, tiny, eensy bit lost in the strange paradox of mundane and unpredictability that is the life (and in particular, stay-at-home life) of a new parent, and think: oh dear Lord. I have nothing to talk about now. But I do have stuff to talk about. It just seems to be bigger and less funny in its life-i-ness than it used to be. Saoirse told me this morning that she’d like to get her ears pierced. (I haven’t told David this yet, so whoops: Hey, Dave? SK wants to get her ears pierced! Please don’t faint). She was standing in her room–the room that pretty much just houses her bunk bed and clothes now because she sleeps in Quinlan’s room and why in the world did we move houses if the girls don’t even want their separate spaces?–before she left for school. She was wearing her…

Well, Then

The other evening we were driving into town when we drove past a house that had been recently gutted in a fire–it was the first time I’d noticed it, so I blurted out my alarm before I thought better of it. Quinlan was really concerned. “What it a fire?” She asked this as we drove past the home, her eyes lingering on the burnt-out window frames, the blackened walls. “Or did somebody gun it?” David looked at me, eyes wide. Gun it?! he mouthed. What the–?? We told her it was a fire, feeling kind of helpless in the face of her shock. And then she asked me this: “What IS a fire, Mommy?” And then I stuttered a lot, because “fire” is one of those words you just sort of know, but in no way know how to explain when a five-year-old puts you on the spot and requests that you explain it, in detail, for her. “Well, Quinlan,” I said. I was fishing around in my brain for a definition and coming up blank, and Dave wasn’t much…

Just the Beginning

We can’t protect our kids from the world (or, in this case, being seven). You know this. I know this. I may want to be in denial about this, and yet. I got a call from the assistant principal of Saoirse’s school (the school that we love, so anything that follows is not a judgment or statement. This is just a story) a couple of weeks ago. As a mom, my heart raced until the principal said–immediately, bless her mama-principal heart–that there was no emergency. Then, as a former goody-goody who may have gone all 12 years of elementary and secondary schools without getting detention (I made up for it in college, don’t mind me), my heart kept racing, because: THE ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL WAS CALLING MY HOUSE. Former stick-to-the-rules goody-goodies don’t get calls from assistant principals. Not really our thing. It turns out that Saoirse and another girl, her good friend, were playing a game at recess, running quickly, and ran into another little boy hard enough that he fell into the bleachers of the gym and got a nasty cut. This…