Meet Lint, my future son-in-law.
Preschooler, as she’s stripping for bath time: First, I have to take my socks off. Then I have to pick my toe lint. I love my toe lint. I wish I could marry it.
Lest you think I’m a total junk food fascist with my kids based on the fact that I believe in rationing sweets (as occasionally mentioned on my blog), the girls and I made chocolate chip scones the other day, and yes, I let them eat one for breakfast.
The other night I told Madeline to think of some happy things she’d like to dream about once she drifted off to the Land of Nod. Here’s her dream list:
- Riding horses
- Watching bears eat berries
How her nighttime reveries unfolded: A witch captured Mary Poppins, but Madeline (“I was in the dream,” she informed me) rode a horse into the woods (“I said giddy-up!”) and gathered the fairies – who rode goats – to save the nanny in distress.
“But she didn’t find Bert,” Madeline said.
“Who’s Bert?” I asked.
“The guy in the movie. You haven’t seen Mary Poppins, have you? It’s a really good movie. Pop has it. You should watch it some time.”
For the record, I have seen Mary Poppins.
A friend of mine and I were sharing our lack of sleep woes (we both have older kids who still don’t routinely sleep through the night) when she said her husband (a neurology resident) told her that a recent study shows the human brain can cope with two years of chronic sleep deprivation.
The bad news? After two years science can’t really say how a lack of shut-eye impacts brain function, but it doesn’t look good.
The worse news? My insomniac is 4.
Another friend of mine was recently talking to her son and encouraging him to invite a child who wasn’t well-liked to his birthday party.
He was against the idea and his mom asked him, “What would Jesus do?”
To which her wily but honest son replied, “Mom, let’s face it. I’m not Jesus.”
No self-righteousness there.
Ugh. I have an insufferable case of writer’s block (thank goodness for memes!), and the explanation behind my complete inability to string together any coherent thoughts, to tackle several looming freelance deadlines, or to be productive at all in front of the computer is quite simple: I’ve actually had plenty of opportunities to write in solitude this week because of Dave’s more flexible work schedule.
What I’ve been doing instead of writing: Staring at a blank journal page praying for inspiration, watching the blinking cursor on a deadly white MS Word Document for about 20 seconds and deciding to check my email instead, reading, preparing homeschooling curriculum for when I begin kindergarten (next fall, mind you), sleeping, checking to see if I have toe lint like my 4-year-old, counting the kicks of my active baby in utero, peeing (about every 10 minutes or so), cursing every other writer who’s actually writing, organizing baby clothes, nesting in other ways (collecting my breast pump pieces, dusting baseboards, etc.), doing my Kegels. Yes, even tightening my pelvic floor muscles seems preferable to sitting down to write.
Fortunately, I know a surefire cure: Have a baby. Then I will instantly become a wellspring of ideas that would surely become the next Great American Novel if only I actually had the time to write.
Dave and I are leaving town this afternoon, abandoning the girls.
Who (technically whom, but that sounds stupid) am I kidding? They’re going to have the time of their life with their Nana and Pop. There will be pancakes for breakfast, a viewing of Mary Poppins, non-stop pretend play, and abridged nap/ quiet times. Let’s hope they miss Mom and Dad just a little.
Anyway, we’re driving about two hours to Hartwell, Georgia, a small lake town, and will be staying at Nana and Pop’s cozy cottage (free digs!). It’s supposed to rain; there’s no Internet connection, or television or movie theater in town, but there will be no complaints of ennui from us. We’ll be napping, reading, and playing games like Dominion, Lost Cities, and Ticket to Ride.
And through it all, we’ll most likely be having conversations about how much we miss our kids and all the little stuff – like the way Madeline still pronounces her “Ks” like “Ts” (“You’re ‘tidding’ me.”) or how Rae stands by the refrigerator and announces, “I ‘hungee,’” when she’s ready to eat.
This is what crazy-cool couples do on their “baby moons,” right?
I can’t wait.