This little man…
While he was off learning about string theory, and that Galileo discovered the four satellites of Jupiter, and pursuing his love of finger painting, I wore something other than my usual Thursday outfit of black yoga pants and a T-shirt from college, so that I could meet my friend Becki for coffee downtown. It was such a cherished coffee date, that I even wore jewelry and applied perfume. I looked nothing like the mother of a toddler whose outfit was peed on the day before, while Thing 2 was sitting in my lap and had a Pampers malfunction.
Becki and I tried to talk as fast as we possibly could, because preschool doesn’t last forever, and I was under a verbal agreement with Thing 2’s school that I would actually return to pick him up.
Thankfully, fast talking is something that Becki and I can both do. I daresay, we could win the gold in that event, so we covered 33.7 million different topics before the finger paint had even dried.
Our biggest laugh came at the differences in our jobs. I teach PE to kids in pre-kindergarten through 4th grade. Becki teaches math and engineering at the college. The reason that I don’t work in Becki’s department is that I lost interest in math right after two trains left their depots at the same time, traveling in two different directions. Becki doesn’t work in my department, because she’s not sure how sanity can be maintained when fourteen 4th graders are arguing over whether or not the last run in the kickball game actually counted, because THE NOISE OF IT ALL!
We laughed hysterically over the fact that our conversations with our students differ dramatically. Yesterday, one of my four-year-old pre-k kiddos asked me, out of the clear blue sky, “Are you Michael Jackson’s mother?”
He’s flunking PE this quarter, and I mean FLUNKING, as in CRASHING and also BURNING.
Becki said that all she got yesterday from a student was the question, “Why did my rate come out negative, if the volume is increasing?” And then she mentioned something about fluids and engineering in the same sentence, and that’s when my head exploded.
It was a blessed time; I treasure that girlfriend of mine.
I know that they’re nearly a week late, but I’m going to post some snapshots from our Easter Sunday, because BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. It’s also because I’m the CEO here at Jedi Mama, Inc., and I can approve the insertion of untimely blog posts.
(Which is why I don’t work in journalism, because there’s entirely too much TIMELY, TIMELY, TIMELY in that field.)
With two toddlers in the family who nap at different times, Sister’s family and ours were two ships passing in the night at Mam and Pa’s house for Easter dinner. We went home right after church so that Thing 2 could nap, because he’s all about the early naptime. Sister’s family went straight over to our parents’ house to eat when church got out, because Little H is more interested in a later nap each afternoon.
This is the one snapshot that I took, which clearly shows Thing 2’s well-rested, let-me-entertain-you-with-a-song personality, and Little H’s meltdown, because EXHAUSTED!
Thing 2 boycotted the ham dinner and chose to make cupcakes out of Play Doh instead.
(And go ahead and mock that pink binky. Our toddler is tough enough to make you regret it.)
The big boys (the boy and his friend, Quinn) shouted words of encouragement to their little brothers and asked questions like, “Are you going to eat all that chocolate, or should I help you out a bit there?”
After the boys had found every egg hidden at Arin’s house, and after I’d shared a glass of wine with her on the patio outside, we loaded our boys back up into the car and drove out to have Second Lunch with Hubs’ parents.
Hubs’ mama made a ham, too, and homemade rolls from scratch, which involved yeast.
I never use the yeast at our house, because it always commits suicide whenever I try to add it to the flour mixture.
Cousin R was at Grammy and Papa’s house to help Thing 2 hunt eggs, as well as help him open his Easter present. Nothing seems to say HAPPY EASTER quite like a new Tonka vehicle does.
Um… no. Our cats would make short work in hog-tying a puppy that size and roasting it over one of my scented candles for an afternoon snack.
Big Cousin H was at Grammy’s house for Easter dinner, too. He’s very difficult to capture on a camera’s memory card, because he’s nineteen. If you think it’s hard to photograph fourteen-year-old boys… try getting a good picture of a nineteen-year-old boy.
If two trains leave their depots at the same time, traveling in different directions…
We took our kids and their sugar-highs home, and we called it a great weekend.
Speaking of weekends, y’all have a merry one…