This one short paragraph will give you a fine idea of our day:
It is late afternoon. It feels dark, though it's not really the dark of dusk. Rain clouds have moved in and they are relentlessly pounding rain on the windshield of my car. The wipers are going at full speed. Both the splash of rain and the rhythm of the wipers have put the little one (who is strapped in to the car seat behind me) to sleep. It's been a very long week with no naps to speak of. She has rallied. She has excelled at maintaining a good outlook on life. In school, the teachers tell me that during naptime, they will sit next to her, but instead of rubbing her back, gently, soothingly, she insists on rubbing theirs, gently, soothingly.
But now, in the car, there is no more oomph left. She falls asleep.
How did it come to this? Well, remember, it's Friday.
Morning: I must grocery shop. But I am really struggling to rev up my motor this morning. In the middle of the night, Ed and I both heard a mouse behind the bedroom wall. You cannot trap a mouse behind a wall. The only solution is to bang on the wall a number of times and eventually the animal will retreat. So I banged. Ed, working downstairs until the wee hours of the night, commented -- I may as well come up and join you. Neither of us are sleeping much tonight.
Indeed.
Breakfast. Yawn.....
Grocery shopping... And then I pick up the little girl.
It's a tough pick up even under the best of times (meaning even if she, the napless girl and me, the slumberless Gaga, were fully rested). We'd just found out that her teacher (adored by her, by me, by her parents) is departing to be with her family in Egypt. As I hang on to a squirmy Snowdrop, I also want to tell this wonderful teacher that she has been a pillar for Snowdrop (and thus for,me, Gaga, who picks the girl up each day), but words fail.
And the little girl knows none of this. She is just antsy to go go go and of course, the rain begins right about now, lightly at first, but still, dark, dank, cold wet -- hey, little girl, want to go to the mall?
I thought she'd remember the mall. We'd been there maybe two or three times in her life. But she is puzzled. I talk of stores and possible Christmas decorations. Of warm inside spaces. Of my big need to find a pair of farmhouse mittens for her that fit. (And while we're there, might I return ones that do not?) So we set off. Ever the adventurous spirit, Snowdrop is curious. Somewhat excited.
First stop Gap. The mitten hunt is on.
The last time I was in this store with Snowdrop, I went in, she touched this and that, I got what I needed, we left.
That was when she was LITTLE. Now she is full of opinions.
Grandma, I like this pink cap.
I'm not looking for a cap....
And these mittens.
They're too small, how about these?
No, I like the pink ones!
Did I think this would be easy?
I find a table with crayons. Snowdrop, can I interest you in pursuing an art project of your dreams? How would you like to color in the letters of the word GAP?
(Excited)
(Wait, can I color in this book too?)
(It's getting to be a long day...)
After, I do my returns (quickly, while she munches on a croissant) and then I take her to the Mall's special Christmas corner where, you guessed it, there is a Santa.
Now, I have no great desire to put her on his knee. Snowdrop doesn't really know who Santa is and what his business plans are. Too, the whole thing about paying a lot of money for a photo that will likely be stupid doesn't grab me. Still, I want to see her reaction to this big white bearded guy (she wont remember that she did sit on his knee last year).
She turns her face away and hides it into the stroller.
I ask her -- you didn't like the looks of that Santa guy?
Oh, I did like him.
Go figure.
We turn toward a store that surely will have Christmas decorations (she loves the glitter and shine of this holiday!) -- Pottery Barn.
Snowdrop is delighted.
Hard to lure her away from the millions of fragile holiday pieces around a tree, but eventually I do, with the promise of a visit to a mall toy store, ostensibly in search of a new coloring book.
Of course, once I am done negotiating with her, it's more than just "a coloring book." That's okay, I truly do believe that the kids' size snow shovel will come in handy.
We drive home in blinding rain. She sleeps. I dream of sleeping.
Soon after, she goes home. I miss her already!
It is late afternoon. It feels dark, though it's not really the dark of dusk. Rain clouds have moved in and they are relentlessly pounding rain on the windshield of my car. The wipers are going at full speed. Both the splash of rain and the rhythm of the wipers have put the little one (who is strapped in to the car seat behind me) to sleep. It's been a very long week with no naps to speak of. She has rallied. She has excelled at maintaining a good outlook on life. In school, the teachers tell me that during naptime, they will sit next to her, but instead of rubbing her back, gently, soothingly, she insists on rubbing theirs, gently, soothingly.
But now, in the car, there is no more oomph left. She falls asleep.
How did it come to this? Well, remember, it's Friday.
Morning: I must grocery shop. But I am really struggling to rev up my motor this morning. In the middle of the night, Ed and I both heard a mouse behind the bedroom wall. You cannot trap a mouse behind a wall. The only solution is to bang on the wall a number of times and eventually the animal will retreat. So I banged. Ed, working downstairs until the wee hours of the night, commented -- I may as well come up and join you. Neither of us are sleeping much tonight.
Indeed.
Breakfast. Yawn.....
Grocery shopping... And then I pick up the little girl.
It's a tough pick up even under the best of times (meaning even if she, the napless girl and me, the slumberless Gaga, were fully rested). We'd just found out that her teacher (adored by her, by me, by her parents) is departing to be with her family in Egypt. As I hang on to a squirmy Snowdrop, I also want to tell this wonderful teacher that she has been a pillar for Snowdrop (and thus for,me, Gaga, who picks the girl up each day), but words fail.
And the little girl knows none of this. She is just antsy to go go go and of course, the rain begins right about now, lightly at first, but still, dark, dank, cold wet -- hey, little girl, want to go to the mall?
I thought she'd remember the mall. We'd been there maybe two or three times in her life. But she is puzzled. I talk of stores and possible Christmas decorations. Of warm inside spaces. Of my big need to find a pair of farmhouse mittens for her that fit. (And while we're there, might I return ones that do not?) So we set off. Ever the adventurous spirit, Snowdrop is curious. Somewhat excited.
First stop Gap. The mitten hunt is on.
The last time I was in this store with Snowdrop, I went in, she touched this and that, I got what I needed, we left.
That was when she was LITTLE. Now she is full of opinions.
Grandma, I like this pink cap.
I'm not looking for a cap....
And these mittens.
They're too small, how about these?
No, I like the pink ones!
Did I think this would be easy?
I find a table with crayons. Snowdrop, can I interest you in pursuing an art project of your dreams? How would you like to color in the letters of the word GAP?
(Excited)
(Wait, can I color in this book too?)
(It's getting to be a long day...)
After, I do my returns (quickly, while she munches on a croissant) and then I take her to the Mall's special Christmas corner where, you guessed it, there is a Santa.
Now, I have no great desire to put her on his knee. Snowdrop doesn't really know who Santa is and what his business plans are. Too, the whole thing about paying a lot of money for a photo that will likely be stupid doesn't grab me. Still, I want to see her reaction to this big white bearded guy (she wont remember that she did sit on his knee last year).
She turns her face away and hides it into the stroller.
I ask her -- you didn't like the looks of that Santa guy?
Oh, I did like him.
Go figure.
We turn toward a store that surely will have Christmas decorations (she loves the glitter and shine of this holiday!) -- Pottery Barn.
Snowdrop is delighted.
Hard to lure her away from the millions of fragile holiday pieces around a tree, but eventually I do, with the promise of a visit to a mall toy store, ostensibly in search of a new coloring book.
Of course, once I am done negotiating with her, it's more than just "a coloring book." That's okay, I truly do believe that the kids' size snow shovel will come in handy.
We drive home in blinding rain. She sleeps. I dream of sleeping.
Soon after, she goes home. I miss her already!
