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Category: That’s Unfortunate

Don’t Ask Me If I Shouted “Opa!”

I set the kitchen on fire two nights ago. David was in Atlanta for work, and the kids and I had stopped off at the grocery store after school to pick up some fresh food to cook for dinner. It’d been a week of scraping together leftovers and take-out, so I was actually excited to get back to a routine. I’d found a recipe for zucchini noodles in an avocado pesto sauce (Don’t laugh. I like that kind of stuff, okay? STOP LAUGHING), and picked up some burgers to make for the kids, because I’m not a monster who only feeds my kids zoodles.  It was seriously the perfect afternoon. The kids played outside (Quinlan just learned how to ride a bike, which means that she pulled her old, too-small bike out of the garage, got on it, and started pedaling–because that’s just how the Mighty rolls) while I put the groceries away and started dinner. They’d gotten their homework finished, and we had a wide-open evening ahead of us, and I’d promised them a cozy dinner and then some time…

Nine Years

On Easter Sunday we marked the ninth anniversary of my dad’s death (pancreatic cancer doesn’t spare the loving). We joined the family for Easter mass, as always, and we had Easter dinner, as always. The day was filled with its own dramas, its own troubles big and small, as they so often pop up, holiday or not. My brother and I talked about it briefly when he called from the home he shares with his wife in Wisconsin. Something about the symbolism of the Easter anniversary. The depressing aspect that yep, Dad’s still dead (because despite nine years you still wonder sometimes if it’s just a bad dream you’ve yet to shake off). Jesus is risen, but Dad’s still gone. David’s dad’s anniversary was a couple weeks ago (I’ve said it before: April is super fun around here), and we hadn’t commemorated it “officially”–between David’s travels for work, and then life, it hadn’t happened. Yesterday we remembered Dad and Tom with a quick toast and moved on to the ham, because what…

Oh, He Said It

Note: I’m blushing as I type this, and I almost didn’t post it, because I can’t retell this story without wanting to die just a tiny bit inside. But this is what you get when you’re candid with your kids. THIS, my friends, is what we deserve: As the preschoolers filed out of the school this morning, Cian’s teacher pulled me aside. “Hey,” she laughed. “I have something for your blog.” “Oh, no,” I said. Mrs. O. let the comment slide, because she has a great sense of humor and this story was too good not to share.  “We were upstairs,” she continued, “and Cian was looking up at a picture of a leprechaun. I said, ‘Hey, Cian! That looks like you.’ Cian was looking up. ‘No,’ he said. “He has a beard.’” “‘Well, you’re going to have a beard one day,’” Mrs. O. said she told him.  “Yeah,” he replied. And then he shrugged. “‘And hair on my penis.’” Yep. That’s what…