this is a page for

Browsing Tag: parenting

Because the Mountain Will Always be There

Saoirse was home sick from school today, which meant no basketball practice for her tonight. David was off to Connecticut for work for a couple of days, so I held court at home, getting water and making eggs-in-a-nest and kissing warm foreheads. I snuck in some writing, but today, I did a lot of…sitting. And it was okay.We picked up Quinlan from school later this afternoon, and the ride home along the cold, wet streets was calm. Even Cian was quiet, for the most part, and Quinlan and Saoirse were tucked into the books they keep in the car. Back home, the simplicity continued: homework was out of the way early and kid pajamas were on by four. By 4:30 I’d abandoned plans to cook a chicken soup and placed an order for Panera delivery (one upside to living within walking distance to allllll of the chains). By 5:30, the kids had eaten, dinner had been cleaned up, and we were all under blankets in the living room, with a fire roaring and a candle lit and Ella Enchanted playing on the TV. Like Quinlan said, it was easy to…

They All Said, Don’t Blink: A Farm Market Causes an Existential Parenting Crisis

Our girls don’t have soccer games scheduled for the upcoming weekend, so most of their practices this week were cancelled (wait, do you hear the choir of angels singing the Hallelujah Chorus, too??). We’ve been running nonstop this fall with soccer and school and family activities (I’m preaching to that choir, surely), and I was SO EXCITED to have a week with my kids home in the afternoon. HAHAHAHAHA. Nine years of parenting and I’m still delusionally hopeful. The reality is they’ve been fighting (with each other) and bickering (with me) and hollering (name your person) nonstop in almost every single supposed-to-be-peaceful moment we’ve had. Because real life is so not like the pretty, pretty pictures in my head. Monday afternoon, Cian and I picked the girls up from school, and I surprised them with a little trip to a local farm market. We haven’t been able to make a lot of the fall-festival rounds, which is one of my most favorite times of the year, so this was our first excursion. You know the drill: crunchy leaves. Fresh apples. Corn pits…

Tough Crowd

We’re in the car (again, always), heading home from school. Saoirse asks me what we’re having for dinner.“Quesadillas,” I say. “Tomatoes. Avocados.” They don’t need to know that I’m going to gourmet the shit out of those quesadillas. Or that those beautiful red and orange tomatoes ripening on our counter will turn into the simplest, best pico de gallo ever. You’ll see why. I can hear the children groan, quietly, in the back seat. “Avocados?!” says Cian. “YUCK.” “Thank you, buddy,” I reply. I forget that toddlers don’t compute sarcasm until he reminds me. “NO,” he says. “I said yuck.” They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’m wondering at what point my children will learn that the way to their mother’s heart is just to be quiet and eat whatever gruel she puts in front of them. Because, apparently it’s gruel. The avocados, I mean.   &nbsp…