You’ll be thrilled to hear that most of my Christmas decorating is finally complete. Mostly done. I live amid amazingly organized moms in my area, people who were finished with the tree raising and decorating, gift shopping AND wrapping all before Thanksgiving. I stand in awe of their level of organization; I am as different from that as a sparkler is different from Fourth of July sky fireworks displays. NO comparison. And yet I wallow here in mediocrity, completely able to appreciate others’ accomplishments while feeling absolutely no compulsion to pursue such lofty goals, myself. Does that make me well-adjusted, or simply crazy?
In light of all my industriousness, including scrubbing poop off my family room carpet (DON’T ASK) at what seems like regular intervals, I have spent absolutely NO time writing the past two days – until now, of course. So you’ll have to settle for a little anecdote shared by Claire at our supper table tonight.
Upon arriving home from school, Claire and Kate zoomed outside to go sledding with a couple of the neighbor kids. Let me just say: my kids LOVE sledding. LOVE it. As for me, I’d rather pour hot coffee in my eye. But I’m sincerely happy that they take such joy in it, and that they have found ways to enjoy the cold despite me not setting much of an example in that area.
So with the snow being almost icy these days, they can really fly down our backyard hill. They’re going far out into what qualifies as the swamp – which is about twice as far as they’ve gone in previous years. Amy prefers to just sit and play in a pile of snow, but Claire and Kate are racing up and down the hill, cheeks watermelon-y-pink, fighting against the bulkiness of their winter outerwear, chugging as fast as they can possibly go.
Occasionally, one of them will let out a loud scream or squeal. To anyone who’s gone sledding, this comes as no great news. Combine that with the incontrovertible fact that moms know exactly what pitch and loudness of screams or cries indicate a real problem. These facts equal the supreme and innate knowledge and ability to block nearly all the hooting, hollering, and general “carrying on.” So I barely notice their loudness.
Well apparently, Claire let out quite a scream flying down the hill tonight, and someone from a few houses over rudely yelled out the window at her to “Stop all that screaming already!!!” [Mind you, it's 5:30 in the late afternoon -- and the house from which this came does not have any children or anything.]
It was not very long ago that such an admonition would evoke instant tears from her. But not today. Not when she is in her own backyard, exercising her God-given and parent-blessed right to go snow sledding. We asked her how she responded, and she said, “Well, what I wanted to say but didn’t was, ‘Did you ever hear about this thing called CHILDHOOD people??’”
Eight years old and ready to take a stand. That’s my girl!
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