Oh, so long ago . . .

In May, I picked the Salad up from school on a particularly beautiful day.  I decided to drive home a different way, and passed a cute coffee shop.  I happened to have a coupon for a free smoothie, so we stopped in Burlap and Bean.  It was quaint and quiet, with folk music playing softly in the background.  There were dark leather couches next to tables filled with coffee beans.  There was a mom and daughter sitting outside sipping iced coffees, while their golden retriever lay at their feet.  There was a group of older women, playing bridge inside.

I ordered a chocolate banana smoothie for the Salad and an iced mocha for myself and we found a seat.   We sat drinking and chatting about the paintings on the wall by local artists and their school day for 30 minutes.  30 minutes!  

I like my 5 year old Salad.  They are so . . . human.

Saying Goodbye

Rest in Peace, Shadow Gal.  The Salad wishes you many dog treats, lots of delicious bones and a big field to run in and poop on.  What?  They're only 5.  Poop talk is the stuff heaven is made of.   

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow.

Playgroup has been trying to plan a trip to Winterthur for the last 2 months, but I swear every Monday and Tuesday this spring has been rainy and thunderstormy. And yes. Thunderstormy is a word. Back to my story, though. The first Tuesday in June was finally nice! So Ms. Amy and I packed the kids up and hauled a$$ to Delaware. We spent the day exploring a beautiful new garden. We climbed trees, played tag, poked frogs with sticks, picked wild flowers, and rode on a tram to boot! After we tooled around outside, Ms. Amy suggested heading to a room full of antiques that the Museum encourages little ones to play with. I think the Salad could have carted those glass dishes and cast irons pots from table to stone fireplace all day. It was getting late, though, and I know our good behaviour is finite. So we ended our day on a happy note. Kinda.

We got stuck in traffic on our way home. Which wouldn't have been an issue, as I had doled our snacks and books for the ride. However, about 20 minutes in, A started screaming crazily that there was a "bug with a lot of legs stuck into her skin!" Then silence.

Me: "A? Is everything OK?"

A: "Yes, Mommy. I pulled it off."

Me: "And then what, babydoll?"

A: "I threw it at your seat."

Me: "Oh, OK."

For the next 20 minutes, I imagined a tick burrowing it's way into my shoulder. I couldn't wait to get home and do the tick check on all of us. I needn't have worried, though. Our hairdresser/barber found and removed that pesky tick from A's hair the next afternoon.

Mr. Matthew at Great Clips got a big tip that day . . . a big tip.

Love?

It would be awkward to address the 35 day break I took from blogging.  It wasn't intentional.  It just kind of . . . . happened.  So I'm diving right in.

In May, the Salad helped a friend celebrate his birthday at a bounce house. I put M in shorts and a short sleeved shirt. He was so excited when he saw that he was wearing both shorts and short sleeves. Our spring weather has been inconsistent. We could wear a bathing suit one day and a winter coat the next. Anyway, he got a plastic burn on his arm going down a giant slide. On our way home, as he lamented the lost skin on his elbow, he made sure I knew it was my fault for not having properly covered up his body with long sleeved clothing. "It's because you gave me this short sleeved shirt, Mom! But don't worry. I still love you." It made me wonder if his love for me is so tenuous that it hinges on me picking out appropriate-for-every-situation clothing. Am I walking such a fine line? Could I so easily fall from his favor for getting the minutiae incorrect? All I know is, I better be dang sure I keep his favorite cereal in stock.

There you go, buddy, all covered up.  Happy?

An effort to catch up

How far behind does one have to be in blogging before the outings and events become null and void?  Is it one month?  Is it 6 months?  Because it's May and I'm certain I have things to write about that happened in December.  I think I'll go for it.  The blog will seem incongruous for a while, but since this is the place I'll come to when I'm in my 90s and my mind no longer functions up to specified parameters, I have to do it for posterity's sake. 

Post originally written April 15, 2012:
R has been in Hawaii this week.  I'm tired.  The Salad and I got up 10 minutes early to put finishing touches on our first project for school.  It's for a contest.  Winner gets free tuition for a month.  Well, for one child, anyway.

We read "The Empty Pot" by Demi.  It's a book, set in China, about having the courage to be honest.  We showed a map of China, the Salad made a Chinese Flag and we talked about some symbolic colors.  For a craft, S painted an empty terracotta pot and suggested planting sunflowers seed at home.  For science, A colored pictures of what a plant needs to grow - sun, soil, air and water.  She was really stumped on how to draw the air part.  For a snack, we cut up an orange and spread the segments into a flower shape and used sunflower seeds for the pistils.  Finally, for Music and Movement, we described and discussed the symbolism of a Chinese Ribbon Dance and M made ribbon sticks to dance with.

It was only after "ribbon dancing" at home, that I realized I had once again given preschoolers a bona fide weapon.  Let's cross our fingers that no one loses an eye before the votes get tallied.

That 1/3 month's tuition would pretty much rock.

Coincidentally, I tried to explain what the phrase "bona fide" meant to the Salad.  I told them it meant "Like for realsies."  They got it.

Twelve Acre Wood

We went on a spur of the moment hike with playgroup this morning.  The weather called for storms all day and we wanted to be close to home, should the skies open up.  Luckily Ms. Carol happened upon the Saul Wildlife Sanctuary on her bike the day before, so in record time of 45 minutes, I changed the Salad, showered, packed lunch, bug spray, water shoes and an extra change of clothes for everyone.

It was a perfect day for a hike, warm enough to go in the water (though cold water wouldn't have swayed this group of kids) and not hot enough to be uncomfortable.  We have to do as much hiking in the next few weeks as possible, before the bugs come. 

The 9 preschoolers caught sight of the creek about 4 minutes into the walk and by 6 minutes in, 7 of them were drenched.  I stood watching them find pebbles, hide treasure in the sand, wade tentatively to the big rocks, race leaves in the current, "fish" with big sticks and I realized just how many times in the past 3 years, I've seen this exact scene - many small children sopping wet on the bank of a stream - and felt lucky that we have amazing, adventurous friends.

We stopped for a snack break just before we left and about 15 kindergartners came along with their school.  It was cool to see how well our worlds collided.  They were friends within minutes, S holding hands with one of the girls, waving heartfelt goodbyes when we had to leave.   

4 hours later we emerged, muddied and happy.

Strict or Slack

A while ago, a fellow blogger had an interesting idea to blog about - what are you strict about? (in the parenting world).  I started thinking about whether I am a strict mom.  And as with most things, I find myself hovering along the middle line.  There are areas in which I am rigid.  For example, I still make the Salad hold my hands when we are crossing any street.  I keep a set bedtime of 7:30, for the Salad.  We have limited screen time.  The Salad knows the shows that I will not allow in our home (Tom & Jerry - oh the violence!, Sponge Bob - the unkind tone!, Yo Gabba Gabba - so annoying!).  We have a clean up time before dinner each night.

But, then there are times when perhaps I fall too far toward the other end of the spectrum.

M dangles from a train trestle.

S drives our van down our street. *

Here, M climbs to the top of a 20' tree.

S drives a Road Roller over A.

    








* Oh, come on, you guys.  Take it easy.  Of course S isn't really driving.  That's not even legal.  OK, she is actually steering.  But that's it.  She's not working the pedals.  You know, 'cause her legs were too short.  Someone else is working the pedals.  I'm not gonna tell you who, though.  Because it's super fun to imagine M squished in front of the driver's seat pumping the gas with his hands.