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Browsing Tag: small children

Holding On to My Hat

I took Quinn to her first preschool open house yesterday. We’re a bit nervous about her starting, I’m afraid. Quinn is definitely her own person, I’ll tell you that much. If I send her up to her room, she’ll call out “I don’t WANT to!”–as she’s climbing the stairs in obedience.  She will fight her bedtime, repeatedly appearing downstairs when she should be sleeping–“Watchu watching?” or “What’s that on your com-poo-ter?”–but tuck herself into bed for a nap in the afternoon without prompting. She will dance around the living room like this girl I knew in college who was basically sort of high all the time and heard a lot of music in her head, but refuses to participate in any sort of organized dance, or song, or sport, or party game, choosing instead to huddle against me with her thumb in her mouth. Just last week, even, my mom was over, watching the girls while I ran out to an appointment.  I got home, and the girls were running outside to…

A Minute in the Life

It’s 4:51 p.m. My oldest daughter is screaming at her sister to clean up the playroom because I told them I was throwing out whatever hasn’t been put away.  That includes the cute little chairs for their table that have somehow ended up WWE-style across the room. I won’t do it, but you won’t tell them that. The second-born is declaring that she’s tired, and from what I hear, has lay down in the middle of the floor and is sucking her thumb.  She ain’t budging. There was a loud smack, and now they’re both crying.  Apparently somebody did budge. Maybe I will be throwing some stuff away. Cian is beside me, chewing on a Motor Trend insert, whining because he pooped his pants during his nap, wouldn’t go back to sleep, and has just realized that naps are awesome and it’s pretty crappy (ha) that he declined to take one. I am sitting in the middle of the living room floor, laptop on my knees because I have a crapload of work–I mean, a to…

We’ll Redecorate When They’re Grown, Anyway

I used to have, shall we say, control issues. I think I’ve gotten better.  I mean,  I know I’ve gotten better, though I’m sure you’d have to ask David for validation on that one.  But my poor brain was always anxious: I had expectations of how events and pieces of life should play out, like scenes in a movie someone had written and refused to revise.  I had ideas of how life “should” be, how people should carry themselves, how I was supposed to be.  I had a lot of boxes I kept trying to squeeze myself into, and in doing so, did a sorry job of shoving the people I loved into those same, ridiculously uncomfortable, small spaces. That was a long time ago. I sound like I was just a ball of fun, don’t I? I was upstairs last week, changing Cian’s diaper while the girls played in the living room of our split-level. Easter had just passed, and all of us, except David, had begun fighting the allergies that kick up as soon as the first leaf buds appear on the trees…