Every great once in a while, it happens. You have an important client meeting, one that you’d rather not reschedule, and your childcare plans fall through. Now what? You could call and beg and plead with everyone you know to sit on your kid for awhile, but you did that last week, and you’re out of favors. Or, you don’t have any backup resources. So you’re faced with two options: reschedule or bring your offspring along for the ride. I chose the latter.
I strapped my sixteen-month-old into her car seat, and headed into town (her older sister had other arrangements). I was a little apprehensive about how my appointment would go, but I’m glad to report that there were no major glitches. I was productive, she was happy, the client was satisfied. Win-win-win! Now, I …
This is how excited they are about mommy’s big news.
Against your better judgment, you seem to like me. Well, maybe not me, but you like my writing. Well, maybe not my writing, but you’re related to me and feel obligated to read my blog. Okay, okay, enough with the self-deprecation. (Side note: I often have to catch myself from saying “self-defecation.” Different meaning ENTIRELY.)
Seriously, though, this blogging thing feels good to me. Natural. It excites me, fulfills me, and gives me a constructive place to squeeze out my brain juice every day. As a creative person, that’s important. So important. About the only thing it doesn’t do for me is pay the bills. (Well, indirectly, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.) And while I fought against the idea of monetizing (offering ad space …
Right now, my daughter is sleeping. Her blond hair is tousled from erratic tossing and turning, and she’s probably still clinging to her chosen cuddle object of the moment—a wiffle ball bat. Her Little Mermaid jammies are too snug, but she insists on wearing them, for fear that they’ll be handed down to her baby sister once she’s officially outgrown them. Right now, she is blissfully unfettered. Her imagination runs wild, never having been tamed by the four walls of education, until today.
In a few hours, my daughter will enter “the system.” Two years of preschool will be followed by twelve years of “big kid” school (as she calls it), and then….who knows? She’ll be out in the world. Will she attend traditional college? Will …
I hesitated before writing this post. I have friends on polar opposite ends of the abortion spectrum, and I know how passionately you feel about the issue, whether for or against. I hope you can read this with an open mind and open heart. But then again, if you’re any friend of mine, I already know you will.
…………
Recently, while driving down two-lanes in rural Kansas, I’ve seen two separate handmade billboards positioned in pastures facing the highway. One, I agree with, and one, I vehemently oppose. The first simply said:
Life – God’s Most Precious Gift
I absolutely believe this is a true statement. After having felt my daughters growing in me and seeing firsthand the miracle that is human life, there’s no fiber of my being that believes otherwise. But here’s the thing. …
She can let it all go in dance class and she doesn’t give a rip.
And then…she ripped one.
My sweet-faced, curly-haired three-year-old angel let it all go in dance class, literally. And not while the music was blaring. Not while their little bodies were in motion. She waited until prayer circle. When it was quiet. Eerily quiet. Those last few seconds after the instructor asks, “Any last prayer requests?”
Bwooooop!! “Hee-hee-hee I tooted.” Yep. That was my daughter. Our tiny dancer is a big tooter.
The other girls giggled, too young to know (or care), that public flatulence isn’t socially acceptable. A few of the older girls looked at her with what seemed to be…admiration. “Wow, that chick just totally farted and didn’t even care! OMG she laughed about it!” (Or whatever tween girls talk like nowadays.)
And while I have …