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Browsing Tag: kindness

With the Pumpkin, Of Course

My mom skipped a lunch with her girlfriends today to watch Cian in his 10-minute long Halloween parade. She then, despite my not-so-forceful protests, whisked him away so that I could go home and focus on writing (more on that later–let’s just say that this writer mama is working hard). I admit that I got a little teary. It could be lack of sleep. It could be from being overwhelmed. It could be that crying a little is my usual reaction to someone showing me kindness. But as we were switching cars outside of my son’s school, she looked at me: “Do you want to cook with a pumpkin?” I squinted at her. “Huh?’ And she handed me a pumpkin. It was this huge thing meant for cooking, grown by a friend of hers, and my Mom had happily taken it from her to pass along to me. If you don’t know how much I love a pumpkin, there you go. I may have hugged it. And then, as if my day weren’t already made (the little things), she slipped me a bottle…

Because It’s Really Not That Hard

Last night, around six o’clock, David and I were cleaning up from an early dinner. His mom and cousin had come up to visit for the day and had just left, and now all three kids were playing, quietly, in the next room over, building towers and castles with some big baby blocks we’d unearthed from the basement. They call it “the new playroom,” the kids. The girls had stopped going down to the basement to play with their toys once it got cold and school started (funny thing, how young kids always want to be around us. I’m going to miss that one day, aren’t I?), and Cian’s at the age where he wants to do more, but I still have to be a responsible grown-up type and make sure he’s not climbing up bookshelves. Not the high ones, anyway. So Dave and I did what we said we weren’t going to do (HA), and shoved our giant dining table over to one wall to use as a craft table, threw down a rug (and by “threw down” I mean…

My Thank You

Yesterday was one of those days:  not the kind that immediately gets off to a bad start, but the kind that starts out relatively well, then, say, within an hour of daybreak, starts a steady slide into a mess of a misplaced shoes, and “I don’t like waffles for breakfast!”, and just throwing all the dirty dishes into the sink because if you take the time to do them now–still have to get those shoes, you know–you’ll be late again to preschool drop-off. So.  Not a bad day, per se.  Just one of those days.  You picking up what I’m stepping in? The situation hadn’t changed much by the time Quinn and I went to pick Saoirse up from school.  We got there early, since I was the “Guest  Reader” that day (So much squirming, these precious little kids do…), gathered up my eldest, and away we went. Every single day after we leave school, Saoirse asks if we can go to a “lestaraunt” for lunch.  Every day, the answer is no, sweetie, we’re heading home to have…