It Just Happened

I've allowed myself to get into a bit of a pickle. You see, when I collected final papers for my course on December 18 and had to submit grades before getting on a plane two days later, I carefully read all of the papers, jotted some notes, calculated final grades, and entered those grades into the university system. Then I planned to craft my thoughtful and thorough comments on each paper over the next couple of weeks before the semester began.

The semester has begun and (you can probably see where this is going) I'm still writing out those carefully crafted comments. 

There's no way around it. This is my own fault. 

A Cutting Edge

Perhaps I've mentioned it before, but Dave and I tend to have different philosophies about the weekend. He likes to begin and complete projects (wash the floors, fix the gutters, design a new garage), while I like to relax and unwind (read a book, watch a movie, take a nap). Sam has acquired Dave's project love, but there's still hope for Eloise. That girl can sleep like nobody's business.

Anyway, this weekend I was very pleased with Dave's project selection. He and Sam researched and built three ice skating "trainers" out of PVC pipe. They look like this:

Kids like Sam who are learning to skate can use them to stay upright and not have to be carried around by a parent. One is for Sam and the two others are for use at our neighborhood ice skating rink. Dave and Sam took them to the park today and left them there with a friendly note. Sam wanted to leave our number on the note so "people could call and thank us," but we decided that wasn't necessary. 

So today I'm feeling pretty proud of my project partner. He can't sit down for 20 minutes in a row, but he's got a good heart. 

I Can't Hold It Back Anymore

I've been trying for about a year now to get Sam to watch a movie with me. I'm like the only parent in the world who is trying to get her kid to experience more screen time, but there you go. Something about cuddling under a blanket with a cup of hot cocoa on a cold winter's day really appeals to me. The problem, though, is that Sam refuses to watch anything that might scare him, and somehow he's picked up on the fact that all movies for kids have some fear-inducing scene in them.

But lately he's been into doing interpretive dances to the song, Let It Go, from Frozen, and I thought this was my chance.

"You know," I said. "Papa has the movie Frozen, and we could watch it this weekend."

"Yeah," Sam replied excitedly. "We could." Then, the standard question, "Are there any scary parts in it?"

"Weeeell," I answered. "I think there are some wolves, but we could fast-forward that part or turn it off or cover our eyes and cuddle extra close. We wouldn't have to see that part."

Pause.

"Maybe I'll watch it when I'm five," Sam said.

Sigh. "Okay. When you're five," I answered.

"Or six. Maybe when I'm six. Or seven. Yeah. I'll watch it when I'm seven," Sam concluded.

So, if you're wondering about our weekend plans, they do not include watching the movie Frozen. But they might include a little of this:

This Post Is (Trying Not To Be) A Total Downer

First, you should know he's okay. Banged up and concussed, but okay. Second, then, is that my dad was in a car accident today. 6-car pile-up on a foggy, icy road outside Helena. Rear-ended by the truck behind him. My dad was going fishing.

There are several pieces of good news here amidst the bad. 1) My dad was wearing his seat belt. By all accounts, it saved him. 2) Things could be worse than a concussion, whiplash, and some cuts and bruises. 3) My dad has both car and health insurance. 4) A kind man at my sister's bank (bank?) tracked her down when the highway patrol called trying to locate my dad's family when he was knocked out and too confused to tell anyone. Later that kind man called again just to make sure my dad and sister were doing okay. 5) No one else was hurt. And 6) Let's just say it again, my dad was wearing his seat belt. By all accounts, it saved him.

Some life lessons are pretty clearly drawn from this. I'm taking them to heart.

I'm also eating chocolate chips right out of the bag and will probably be doing so all day.

Better Days

Sam had a really hard day on Friday. I know this because he kept saying, "I'm having a really hard day." I also witnessed him falling off his chair at lunch. Twice. The second time he busted his lip open and banged up his elbow. Later he said that he must have hit his nose during the fall too because it was really hurting him. "No," I said. "Your sister hit you in the nose before lunch." "Oh, yeah," he said. "I'm having a really hard day."

I felt for the kid that day. So we worked extra hard for him to have a really good weekend. I arranged an office for him in his bedroom, and he spent most of the weekend "working." You see, he's the Chief of Police for the City of St. Paul and he has to write a lot of reports. One was about a bear standing in traffic. Another was about a small elephant with big ears who escaped from the zoo. And several involved a baby sister who kept knocking things off the police chief's desk. 

It was a busy weekend. I mean, the city can't run itself. But for our little workaholic, things were very good.

It Was 79 Degrees There Today

Tonight at dinner Dave asked nonchalantly, "So, would anyone like to spend a year in California while I do a visiting professorship at UCSF?"

"Yes," I replied. "Definitely yes." And then I proceeded to reason out the pros of such a decision without getting (or needing) the details of the proposition. "The kids are young. They aren't in school school yet. I could stay home for the year. I've been thinking about wanting to be home with the kids more. I could write probably. I'm sure we could find a nice place."

I stopped talking, finally, to ask Dave. "What do you think? Is it a good gig? Would you like to do it?"

"Nah," he replied. Nonchalantly again.

I know Dave loves St. Paul. I do. And I know that he never plans to leave it. Ever. But I persisted.

"It would be a great experience for Sam and Eloise. They would love the weather. We'd all love the weather."

"Sam," Dave said,"Would you like to live in California or Minnesota?"

"Minnesota," he answered. No hesitation.

"But come on, we should really consider this," I added. "We'd look back on this as the great year we spent in California. Sam could go to preschool there. We'd find a great school, Buddy."

Then I had said too much. Sam burst into tears and wailed, "I don't want to go there. I want to stay here." And then I had to hug Sam for ten minutes while he cried and Dave told him over and over, "Mom was just joking."

For the record, I wasn't joking. But we're not moving to California. Or anywhere that's not Minnesota for that matter. I mean, other people might actually have considered this offer, right? But not my St. Paul boys. They're here to stay.

Pitch Perfect

Sam and Eloise both had their annual check-ups today. For Sam this was a delightful event where he got to tell the actual doctor all about being a pretend doctor and how he often has to work at least one night shift each week. For Eloise this was a traumatic, miserable event that involved finger pokes and leg shots and a resulting fever for the rest of the day (she's finally sleeping it off).

The highlight for me, though, was when the nurse did Sam's hearing test. "Each time you hear a beep in your ear," she said, "say beep." Sam interpreted this to mean that he should sing the "beep" in the exact pitch that he heard it in his ear. The nurse did her best to keep from laughing at my little soprano who, apparently, can sing notes only meant for dogs to hear. When the test ended and the nurse turned away to type in the results, Sam gave me a thumbs up as if to say, "I nailed it."

Oh, sweet boy. You did indeed.

Anniversary

It's 2015 folks. I've set a goal for myself to post on the blog a record number of times. Last's year's showing of 20 posts was pretty sad. I can do better. To celebrate the 10-year anniversary of this blog, I'm planning to surpass the 120 posts from my first year of blogging. This is very exciting.