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Browsing Tag: family life

Then Anything is Possible: Happy Thanksgiving

It’s 7:15 on Sunday morning. I’ve just sat down on the couch with a newspaper and the first, and therefore most precious, cup of coffee of the day. Cian’s already here in the living room playing, and he abandons his toys when I sit to climb up beside me and rest his head on my shoulder. He says good morning, and that’s where the expected slow start to my day goes into hyperdrive. “Mom?” he says. “If anything is possible, then nothing is possible.” I’m still in my pajamas. I’ve had one–one!–sip from the hot mug of coffee I still hold in my hand. I am not ready for seven-year-old philosophy yet, but Cian’s thought process moves at a speed that requires the under-caffeinated to catch up. I think for a second. Take another sip. “But, buddy,” I say, “think about this: the word ‘any’ can be all things. Like if we talk about ‘anyone,’ we’re really talking about all people. So what does that…

You Know the Cliche

Cian noticed the tulips in their vase on the kitchen island and stopped his play. “When are dey gonna open?” he asked me. I looked at them, perfectly shaped, as they must have been all week. I couldn’t say for sure: I’d picked them up for six bucks at the grocery store on Saturday and really hadn’t noticed them since. “Maybe tomorrow, buddy,” I said. “It happens slowly.” “Can I see dem?” “Sure,” I replied, and picked him up to set him on the counter beside the flowers. Nervously, I circled, staying close, because even though I had a bunch of things to do and the chances of him falling off and cracking his head open were slim, you know. I’m not one to assume. But he sat there for the longest time–come on buddy, I have STUFF to DOOOOO–and other than when he kept calling out, “Don’t take a pictchah of me! Stop LOOKING AT ME!” he was really happy to just…watch the tulips. “When are dey gonna open?&#8221…

We’re Just Going to Ignore the Fact That It Was All My Fault

Two days ago, Quinlan had a fever of 103.5 and was throwing up. She spent the night with me in our bed (David got relegated to…Cian’s bed, I think? Not sure. He’s always the one who gets relegated. All I know is that he helped me change the sheets after Vomit #1, slept through Vomits #2 and 3, and had to take the dog out twice, somewhere around 3 a.m. and 5. So he had to have been close. Though I’m sure he was wishing he were juuuuust a bit further away).  Quinlan’s very pulled together when she’s sick, I have to say. She was feverish and miserable, but woke to tell me she had to barf, did her thing into our handy bucket, politely said, “Mom? I’m finished barfing” and lay back down, each time. She’s a funny one, our Mighty.  One day ago, I embarked on a grand journey to finally figure out how to wear my hair naturally. While one might not think that this ranks on the same troublesome level as a feverish barfer, that one…