TEACHER

1: one who guides the studies of another; especially, one whose occupation is to instruct

Between my three girls, our family has been served by thirteen teachers over the last nine years.  Mrs. K is the only one to teach all three of them.  My girls have had good teachers, great teachers, high energy teachers, mellow teachers, nurturing teachers, tough teachers, teachers who liked them as people and teachers who ended the year not knowing my daughter any better than the day they met them.  Mrs. K is the best of the best.  She's the kind of teacher who gets to know every child in her classroom and who then finds something likable, something teachable, something unique and valuable about each and every child.

About five years ago, we were in the process of leaving Hull-Jackson, a public Montessori school that had served as the launchpad for educating our daughters.  Looking back, I know what a gift this style of learning was for A and B.  A learned to read easily and early and a traditional kindergarten would not have been an ideal introduction to schooling for her.  But Montessori worked great - she read at her level, did work at her level and never noticed that she was any different from her peers.  I guess I should more accurately say that Montessori worked great until A reached first grade and then self-selected reading over every other possible activity.  She never wanted to work on math or science or anything other than reading.  That strong preference for one style of learning and one subject, combined with a principal who was nothing short of a tyrant, sent us looking for another school.

In the search for that school, we met Mrs. K.  She was (and is) a second grade teacher at Lockeland.  J met her first and came home enthusiastic about this teacher who seemed kind, knowledgeable and more than willing to help our family make the move to a more traditional style of learning.  Going in, we had no idea whether A would actually end up in her class.  But she made us see that a move to Lockeland was feasible for our family.  To our great relief - and the answer to many prayers - A ended up in Mrs. K's class.  It was a great year for her and the transition was easier than I could ever have imagined.

When B was assigned to Mrs. K's class the following year, I wondered how that would go.  A is an easy child to have in your classroom - compliant, well-behaved, a fairly quick learner.  B is another story - let her get bored at your peril.  As we prepared for parent-teacher conferences the fall that B was in 2nd grade, I said to Mrs. K with a smile, "I'm sure we'll have more to talk about this year."  I will never forget her reply, "Oh! B is great.  Sure, she's different from A, but I love having her my class."  I knew right then that it would be OK.  And it was.

Relief is the only emotion I felt when K was assigned to Mrs. K this year.  K has wanted to have Mrs. K as her teacher nearly her entire life.  The first morning of kindergarten, K got dressed and said, "Do you think Mrs. K will like my outfit?"  I didn't have the heart to tell her she was going to have to wait two years to actually be in Mrs. K's class.

In the years since our family has known Mrs. K, she's given birth to two girls of her own.  They are blessed to have her.  They have a mom who, I feel sure, will use all that makes her great in the classroom to help them succeed in learning who they are and growing into the best girls and women they can be.  In many ways, that's what Mrs. K has done for A, B and K.  She's seen them as individuals, taken the time to get to know their strengths and weaknesses and guided them through second grade - a year that serves as a bridge to a more independent stage of childhood.

While she's been busy teaching these girls of mine, I've been learning from her, too.  Learning to see the challenging aspects of my daughters as part of the whole package.  Learning to teach my girls where they are instead of comparing them to some guideline set by a stranger.  Learning to take the teachable moments and enjoy the just-be-present moments.

I am always ready for summer to arrive and that is no less true this year.  But combined with my desire for summer is a thankfulness for the year K had with Mrs. K - a great teacher.

ENTHUSIASTIC

: filled with strong excitement of feeling: ARDOR

K turns 8 today.  It's both hard to believe and terribly exciting that my youngest child is eight years old.  In many ways she's exactly as she's always been - full of life, exuberant, inquisitive, talkative.  Of the five readers in our family, K is the one who will choose non-fiction over fiction.  She wants to know about the Olympics, volcanoes, the solar system and polar bears - all at the same time.  She's the kind of girl who brings her father his shoes in order to get him to brave the mosquitoes and kick the soccer ball around in the back yard.  She makes a friend one day and wants them invited to her birthday party the next day.  She is our family's ambassador in the neighborhood and meets all new neighbors before any of the rest of us, "Oh, you're K's mom," I've heard a time or two.

Of my three daughters, K is the least like me - at least from my vantage point.  She's bold, cute, confident and knows no shame.  In the photos that started this post, you can see the photographer trying to get her to stand still for a shot.  K never really does, but her smiling face makes for a great shot anyway.  I'm good at being still - physically and mentally.  In fact, it's one of the things I do best.  And while K can learn from me, there's a lot I can learn from her, too.  I'm often hesitant to run towards the things in life that spark my interest - I'm sure K would find that concept completely foreign.  I am quick to see my mistakes as larger and of more import than they actually are - K does not beat herself up over a slip-up, but moves on.

Today at church, we were sitting in our pew after taking communion when a family we love walked past on their way back to their pew.  K jumped up and down waving to them.  And while decorum might have dictated that I encourage her to sit, I could only smile at her.  She wasn't being disrespectful, she was being enthusiastic.  And every member of the family smiled back at K - she's infectious, that girl.

As the final member of our family, there are ways in which K sets the tone for all of us.  About this time last year, K started asking about the Liberty Bell.  I answered her questions as best I could, but what I was thinking was, "If she's old enough to ask about these things, we can go there on a vacation!"  So this Friday, we leave for Philadelphia.  K's old enough to hang with us while we tour Independence Hall, visit the art museum, drive out to Lancashire and see the sights.  She doesn't need naps and in fact probably has more energy than the rest of our family.  She won't be bored with the historical information we encounter.  Instead, she'll want to read every item and ask countless questions.  My baby is finally growing up.

A and B were born just twenty months apart and during a very busy time in our lives.  J was in graduate school, I was working full-time.  We hardly knew which end was up.  Yet when we'd had time to recover for a few years, we began discussing whether we wanted to try to have a third child.  I am so thankful that we agreed to try for one more because the result was much more than we could have asked or imagined.  I felt back then that our family just wasn't quite complete, but K definitely completes it.  She is the quintessential representation of good things coming in small packages.  She stretches the rest of us, demands that we pay attention to her and brings joy and frustration (sometimes in equal measure).  In short, she completes us.  We are blessed to have her.  She brings an undeniable enthusiasm to her life - and ours.

INHERITANCE

1 b : the reception of genetic qualities by transmission from parent to offspring

Last week, I was with a group of women when our talk turned to how messy it is to allow our children to feel and own their emotions.  Earlier that day, I had taken B and K to the downtown library right after picking K up from school.  (Mistake #1, as it turned out.)  On our way there, I asked K whether she had finished all of the Boxcar children books.  She hadn't, so I told her I would need her to go with me to the return desk.  (Mistake #2)  While that was fine at the time, upon arriving at the library, K was more than a little dismayed when B got to have the parking ticket validated while we sorted through the returns. (Mistake #3 and, boy, was this a biggie.)  One small thing set off a ten minute sobbing fit from K.

She cried while we returned the books.  She cried while I picked up our books on hold.  She cried while we walked upstairs to the children's section.  She cried while sitting on the tiny green sofa in the children's section.  The girl was feeling a lot of emotion about not getting that ticket validated.

Throughout all of this, I tried to do 2 things: not shame her and not shame myself.  Not shaming her meant not saying unkind things to her, not pointing out that she was making a scene and trying to encourage her to get her emotions under control while not threatening her.  Not shaming myself meant not beating myself up over an ill-timed trip (see mistake #1 above), not losing my temper and setting firm, enforceable consequences.  K left the library without a single library book that afternoon.  She also left without crying.  It took far longer than I would have liked, but she did settle down and read her Boxcar children book.

That night, a friend was sharing how her children get upset over the small things in life (no eggs for breakfast on Monday, scrambled eggs instead of sunny side up on Tuesday) and how it's easy as the parent to be offended by this behavior.  But if we put ourselves in their places for a while, we see how little control they have over their lives and we can then imagine how it might upset us to not get to choose what we have for breakfast.  As a group, we talked about how to let our children express their emotions while trying to minimize the sensory onslaught that their emotions bring.  I don't, by any means, have the answer for how to do this.  I do know this: I am ok with my children feeling - and expressing - anger to me.  That's part of their job as children, isn't it?  To get upset with their parents.  To separate their views of the world from mine.  To articulate when I am doing something that they disagree with.

Here's the thing: I don't want my children's emotional inheritance to be one where they lock up what they feel and don't learn healthy expressions for the whole range of their emotions.  Because I am learning - slowly and as an adult - that you can't really feel joy without letting yourself feel anger.  You can't experience gladness without letting the guilt in.  You must feel all of it to feel any of it.  This isn't easy for me, but it's an area where parenting has pushed me beyond my inadequacies.  It's an area where I am teaching myself when I say to them, "Don't yell.  Tell me what you feel and tell me what you need."

What inheritance do I hope to leave my children?

A love of books

A love of art

The ability to name their thoughts, feelings and desires

An acceptance of people who are not like them

A willingness to listen

A belief in the value of community

The knowledge of how to throw a great party

The ability to cook a tomato tart for a friend

Faith that when they get it all wrong, it will still be OK

I can't know what they'll get and what they'll miss.  I can only keep trying to be a parent who hands down these things as an inheritance.

EXAMPLE

1 : one that serves as a pattern to be imitated or not to be imitated

Yesterday, we went straight from ballet to the pool at the YMCA.  In order to do this, we had to pack swimsuits, towels and snacks before leaving home at 11:30.  I squeezed in a workout after about an hour of reading, leaving us with not much time for last minute packing.  (The mornings certainly go by quickly when your children let you sleep until 8 AM.)  Before hopping in the shower, I gave the girls their instructions:

"B, please pack snacks for the pool."
"A, get your ballet clothes on and have your ballet bag ready to go."
"K, put your swimsuit in the pool bag."

I came downstairs to find K in her swimsuit.  Not exactly following my instructions since we were going to the Parthenon before the pool and a swimsuit wasn't appropriate. So I told her to put clothes on and put her swimsuit in the bag.  In a few minutes we were off and on our way, the girls having downed Easy Mac for lunch and A's hair fastened in a bun.

The Parthenon was an interesting visit and a good way to kill some time during a session of ballet.  We talked about the Elgin marbles, attempted to identify Greek gods and goddesses by their weaponry and chose our favorite pediment sculpture.  All while we walked around in an air-conditioned building - a good choice for a day when the heat index was well above 100.

Upon arriving at the pool (after a detour to the ice cream shop), I reached into the bag and started pulling out towels.  I found my swim suit and B's swimsuit.  A had her swimsuit on, having changed after ballet.  K's swim suit?  Not. In. The. Bag.  I froze and looked up at K, "Did you put your swimsuit in the bag?"  Stricken, she replied, "I don't think so."

I gave the girls two choices: we could either go home and stay home or stay at the pool.  It was hot.  It was mid-afternoon.  I wasn't going to make a trip home and then lug everyone back to the pool.  We all agreed to stay and B and I headed inside to change.  As we walked into the locker room, B said to me, "Do you even feel bad for K?  Because you're not acting like you do."  Ouch.  This kid does not mince words.

I explained that I did, in fact, feel bad for K, but that I also thought she would learn to listen to instructions if she had to live with consequences for forgetting things.  B shrugged and put her suit on.  We emerged to find A in the pool and K sitting in a chair in the shade.  I sat down with her, offered her a snack and told her I was really sorry she had forgotten her suit.  And then the most amazing hour and a half ensued.

K sat with me, ate some cherries and chatted.  But she did not complain.  She did not whine.  She did not pout.  When A and B went to the indoor pool to swim, K asked if she could go and watch them.  Other than that, she sat with me while I read and told me some stories and suffered her consequence with great grace.  The only thing she said, about an hour into pool time, was, "Can we leave at the next swim break?"  I assured her that we could and told her she was doing a great job.

She did such a great job that when we got home K was allowed to choose and watch a television show all alone.  (A great treat in our house.)  I explained that she was getting this reward for her amazing behavior.  I complimented her on the way she didn't let her anger or sadness get the best of her.  She and I have talked a lot lately about controlling her emotions instead of letting her emotions control her.  This was a great example of K being in control.  A and B agreed that K did a great job and both admitted they probably wouldn't have been able to behave as well as she did.

K is not my most self-controlled child.  She feels deeply and doesn't work very hard to filter her feelings in a way that makes it easy for others.  She's also the youngest of three and has her fair of enabling - from everyone in our family.  Given all of this, I think it's noteworthy for K to be setting an example for the rest of us.

How do I react when I forget something?  When I misinterpret, misunderstand or flat-out forget the instructions?  How would I feel sitting at the pool in 100 degree heat without my swim suit?  I'll tell you what I do.  I beat myself up.  I shame myself.  I probably suffer more silently than most seven year olds, but inside I am yelling at myself.  I am pouting.  I am whining.  None of us get through life - or even a week - without making a mistake.  Some mistakes are more visible than others.  Some have bigger, broader consequences.  I hope the next time I slip up, I'll remember K sitting in the shade at the Y in her dress, not complaining, just accepting.  I can certainly learn from her example.

STUDENT

2 : one who studies : an attentive and systematic observer

Grace Enough

Parenting is a continual lesson in humility.  Just when I think I know something about one of my daughters, I'll observe her in a new situation and have to recalibrate my opinion of who this girl is.  Last Saturday, K had her first birthday sleepover at the young age of seven.  (I would never have let either of her sisters have a group sleepover at age seven, but that's one of the perks of being the youngest.)  After hosting, I decided there are advantages and disadvantages to sleepovers with younger girls - more energy, less drama.  I also learned a great many things about my daughter by watching her interact with five other six to eight year olds.

I've found over the years that the key to a successful girl's birthday party is to keep the kids busy.  If that means a water balloon fight for B's August celebration, I'm ok with that.  If it means a full night of ice skating in January for A, we'll do it.  For K's sleepover, I had planned to serve pizza, have the girls decorate bags to hold pinata candy and then each complete a Book of Seven (in honor of K's 7th birthday) before cupcakes and a movie.  What I learned:  attention spans vary greatly at this age.  K contentedly sat and decorated her pinata bag with a drawing of herself as the Birthday Princess, complete with crown.  Another friend quickly sketched out two or three bags and asked for more to decorate.  Others completed a bag and wanted something else to do.

These were small variations compared to what I found when we started the books.  Some girls wanted to diligently complete each of the seven lists of seven things, others struggled to get through one list before losing interest.  As J whispered to me, "It never quite goes according to plan."  While that was true, I looked at K and said, "Yes, but I based it on our daughter.  And she's doing exactly what I anticipated."  Which was sort of true.  She was completely content to do each of the activities and would have kept working on her book even longer had there not been a general consensus that it was time to move on.  She loved making her book.  What I didn't anticipate was that K would help others, have a great deal of focus and even spell words for her friends as they completed their lists.  In short, she's capable of more than I realized.

I try very hard to not compare my daughters to each other.  A learned to read very early, in an abnormally accelerated manner.  B was a bit slower to decide she wanted to read and K took her time even learning the alphabet.  I knew, because K is a third child and I've now witnessed this two times, that K would eventually decide to read.  It was just a matter of waiting for the right time.  None of my girls learned to read in a regular progression - it was far more like a series of sprints than a steady marathon.  K hit her stride earlier this year and while she still struggles a bit with new words, she reads quite well.

I didn't judge K for the fact that she learned to read a bit later and differently than her sisters.  They are all so very different that it seemed silly to think that K wouldn't approach reading differently.  After all, she approaches life differently.

But this is a bigger issue than reading.  What I realized Saturday night is that K has a pretty good attention span for a seven year old.  To be brutally honest, it was shocking to see that she could sustain an activity longer than any of the other girls in her grade.  Prior to witnessing it myself, I would have guessed that her attention span was shorter than average.  As J and I talked about the party, we realized that we have based our opinion of K's focus on that of her sisters.  Worse, I have underestimated my daughter.

It pains me to realize this, much less admit it publicly.  I want to encourage my daughters, breathe life into their gifts, hold their hands and let them go.  I don't want to hold them back by not seeing them for who they really are.

The things I said of K in my last post are still true.  She was a fabulous hostess, she was kind to each and every friend and she adored being the center of attention.  But she's more than just those things.  Much more.  I'm thankful to have been given a glimpse of the K I saw on Saturday and I want to keep my eyes open to see each of my daughters as they grow, change and evolve into more than I can hope or imagine.  I want to be a student of who they are and who they are becoming.

SEVEN

: the length of time from May 21, 2004 to today

My youngest daughter K is seven today.  That's right, my baby is seven years old.  Not much of a baby anymore, is she?  For her birthday this evening, she is having five friends spend the night.  It will be a jam-packed evening, complete with pizza, pinata, craft and movie-watching.  For our craft, we're making Books of Seven.  In these books, the girls have space for seven lists of seven favorite things.  As I made the books, I thought about how seven represents perfection in the Bible.  Looked at from this angle, these books are complete perfection - seven lists of seven things. 

In many ways, I think seven might be a perfect age.  K is old enough for me to catch glimpses of who she will one day be.  In my experience, it's difficult to know who your children really are at a young age.  To some extent, toddlers and babies all like the same things.  How to tell whether your daughter loves to dress up at age three because she's going to be a fashionista, because it's an easy way to express her creativity or as a valuable way to try on different personas in an attempt to learn who she really is?  Does your baby like to be rocked to sleep because she's a people person or because that's what she's learned to do?  Who knows?  But by age seven, I know a few things about K that are specific to who she is:

She is relationship oriented.  We had dinner with some college friends earlier this week.  In the span of two hours, K met and formed a friendship with another little girl.  They met as we were walking in to the restaurant and played and talked together for the remainder of the evening.  As we sat there eating, K walked over to the mom of her new friend.  She handed her a napkin with writing on it and said, "Here's my mom's phone number.  I'd like to have a play date with H."  As we walked back to our car that evening, I broke it to K that her new friend lives in Chicago, so a play date was unlikely.  She was puzzled as to how their family made it to dinner on time with such a long commute, but unruffled about where her new friend lives.  I suspect K will adjust easily to new circumstances all her life - she makes friends quickly and effortlessly.  She gets that life is about relationship and she pursues it.

K is a hostess at heart.  She has been planning tonight's birthday party for at least six months.  She knows exactly what she wants served for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow.  She knows what movie she wants to watch, who will sleep where and numerous other details.  Whenever we have someone drop by to visit, K is quick to make them feel at home.  I hope K always has an open door policy - for her dorm room, apartment and first house.  She understands that one purpose of a home is to use it to bless others.

K loves sports, dance and all things performance.  At her recital last week, she kept a huge, genuine smile on her face the entire time.  She simply loves being on a field or on a stage where people watch her.  Last night as I tucked her in to bed, she told me she wanted a birthday crown to wear all day today.  "So that everyone will know it's my birthday," she explained.  I smiled inwardly at how different she and I are (you won't catch me in a crown on December 10th), but I made her a crown this morning before our trip to Waffle House for her birthday breakfast.  She wore it with aplomb.  I hope K will always be as comfortable in her own skin as she is at the sweet age of seven.

Seven might just be the perfect childhood age - when a child is old enough to be independent, confident enough to know her preferences and content to still be a little girl.  I'm going to savor every minute of it.

ABSENCE

: the state of being not present

Last Friday, I took my 11 year old daughter, A, to the airport.  She boarded a plane and I left the airport alone.  She was nervous, excited, giddy - all things that an eleven year old girl does really well.  A was on her way to Milwaukee to visit J's parents.  This trip was an impromptu gift for several of us: time with her grandparents and her first solo flight a gift for A, time alone with A a gift to Me-Me and Grandpa, time alone a gift for me.  Her flight up went well (for which I am very thankful since I need her to willingly board the plane again tonight!) and she called to let us know she had arrived safely.

She called that evening to see what we were going.  She called Saturday to see how K's soccer game went.  She asked to talk to her sisters.  She talked to me.  She talked to J.  After a phone call or two of this, J and I realized that she missed us.  Since our girls have been little, they've spent time without us at my parents' house and J's parents' house.  But none of them have ever done it without sisters as companions.  It was sweet to see our absence from her make her heart grow fonder.  And A wasn't the only one.

Last night at bedtime, I told K to grab her most recent library book and go read in bed until I joined her.  "Can I clean my room instead, Mom?"  "Clean your room?" I say, puzzled.  Her room is strewn with toys and clothes - all her doing.  After helping her ready her room for a playdate on Friday, I've since then left it to K.  The result of that was quite a mess.  She's going to voluntarily take care of this mess?  Is she angling for a later bedtime?  Apparently not, because K's reply was,  "Yes, I want to clean my room so that it's nice and clean and beautiful when A gets home tomorrow!"

A and K had been sharing a room for a few days before A's trip.  K has a spare bed in her room and A wanted to sleep in there with her.  Actually, A is ready to just move into the room, but we thought we'd give it a few nights (or weeks) before moving furniture and clothing from one room to another.  K adores having another person share a room with her.  She is such an extrovert that she doesn't even want to sleep alone.  And we've found from past experiments that A and K make pretty good roommates.  While K is four years younger, A is an early to bed, early to rise girl, so the earlier lights-out doesn't bother her.  And sharing a room with her six year old sister gives this tween a reason to let her little girl side reign.  She plays zoobles, Barbies and dress-up with K - a gift only a youngest sister can give.

K is excited to have her sister, playmate and roommate return tonight.  A's flight gets in at 7, so I imagine K will be on pins and needles in the hours between school and airport.  But her room is ready.  Because K not only cleaned it last night, she got up early this morning to finish tidying and vacuum.  Yes, the vacuum was in use in my home prior to 8 AM this morning.  I can assure you this is not the norm.  It may, in fact, be the earliest wake up call my vacuum cleaner has ever received.  But K wanted the room completely clean and ready for A's return.

I know I have years ahead of me of girls squabbling, arguing and generally being annoyed with each other.  After all, one purpose of siblings is to learn conflict resolution in a safe environment.  But having sisters also exposes your own selfishness.  And as much as we each need to see that, it's never fun to do.  So raising three girls has its fair share of blessings and challenges.

But today the blessings are shining a bit brighter, taking up more room in the forefront of our lives, reminding us that it's a very sweet thing to raise three girls who enjoy each other (even when they are completely unwilling to admit it).

A, K and B

ATTRIBUTE

2: an object closely associated with or belonging to a specific person, thing, or office
Before I got pregnant with my first child, when I was just beginning to contemplate trying to have a baby, a doctor told me that parenting is exhilarating, but devastating.  He said one of the hardest things was to see something in his children that was a flaw of his own and to think, "I thought I managed to not pass that on to her!"  I've certainly experienced that - and anticipate far more of it during the teenage years that loom on the horizon.  But today has been about seeing glimpses of myself in my daughters - and feeling more connected to them because of those glimpses.

K is the daughter who is least like me - physically, emotionally and personality.  She has my dark brown eyes, but not much more.  She is quick to feel any and every emotion - letting them course through her veins and direct her paths (sometimes in a good way, sometimes not), whereas I long ago taught myself to stifle emotion and to never let it make it as far as my actions.  She is an off-the-charts extrovert.  I'm a bit of an introvert, myself. 

Over the course of my nearly seven years of parenting K, I have learned a great deal from her.  But I have sometimes wondered how she came to be my daughter.  I think a part of me has secretly watched her, waiting for some sign that she really is mine.  I got that sign not too long ago, and I saw it again today.

Last week, K had to write a report for Black History Month.  She chose Harriet Tubman as her topic and diligently read a book about her before writing a paragraph conveying what she had learned.  She finished her project a few days before it was due, so she turned it in the Friday before its due date.  K came home that day telling me that all of her friends agreed she had done the best show and tell ever.  I smiled and asked what she told them for show and tell.  "My report!" she said.  I pictured K sharing a few sentences about Harriet Tubman as her class sat in a large circle.  My mental picture was a tad off, as I found out when her teacher e-mailed me the image above.  Look at that tiny girl standing there so poised.

As soon as I saw the photo, I saw myself in it.  I'm not a world class public speaker, but I know how to do it and even enjoy doing it at times.  This I could relate to.  And I told K so as we prepared for her to go on her school's morning show this morning.  She was worried she wouldn't get to the point in a timely fashion (a very legitimate concern for her to have - being concise is not her strong suit), but she had written what she wanted to say in advance and it was the perfect length.  She did a fabulous job this morning.  She read from her paper instead of looking directly into the camera, but she's only 6!

I'm not proud that K has some new found skill at public speaking or that she's putting all of that talking to good use.  I'm just excited to see something in her that appears to have come directly from me.  Something that makes my heart say, "Yes!  That!  I know how to do that, too!  We do have things in common!"  It makes me happy to think that as she's growing into the person she will one day be, she is taking a piece of me along with her.

THIRD

1. a : being next after the second in place or time

If you're a parent of more than one child, you might have read The Birth Order Book. A friend gave this to me after babysitting for our girls many times and seeing our daughters reflect a lot of characteristics from her own family experience.  I haven't read the book cover to cover, but I've read enough to believe there's something to it.  There's a fair amount of nature and nurture at work in all of us and it's often difficult to separate the two.  Is my third daughter K a talker because she's genetically predisposed that way or because she immediately figured out that if she was going to get attention as the youngest she would have to demand it?  Tough to say.

It's also difficult to sort out how much of birth order is a result of your children sensing their place in the family versus how your different style of parenting impacts your children.  I am not intentionally harder on my firstborn, but I will confess that I am harder on her.  I don't intentionally pay less attention when K learns to do something that her sisters mastered long ago, but it does happen with some things.  Despite this, I've found there's one thing that never gets old:  your child learning to read.  Not even seeing her learn to read, so much as seeing her go from toddling along with the words, to walking, to jogging.  In the past few weeks, K has hit her stride with reading.  And it is sheer joy to witness.

K is 6 1/2 and it took her the longest to get to this point.  Her eldest sister A took us by surprise and didn't really learn to read so much as wake up one day and do it.  B learned to do it, did it fine and then spent the summer between first and second grade devouring every book she could get her hands on.  That summer, we went to the library twice weekly in order to have a fresh stock of books on hand at all times.  Both A & B started first grade well ahead of K in terms of reading.  Had K not been my third child, this might have concerned me.  But I had seen twice already that it's a process that develops in its own way and over its own time.  Sure, there are things you can do to encourage your child, but ultimately, you must just wait for her to see for herself how glorious it is to read everything around her.

I've tried to imagine what these last few weeks have been like for K.  Did the letters start out jumbled together and finally begin to coalesce into meaningful words?  Did she see a word as its individual parts rather than its meaningful whole?  I'll never know.  What I do know is that when she joined us in church today, she pulled out the Book of Common Prayer and started reading it.  It was pretty tough going, so I put her in Psalms and let her go.  I don't even have words for how happy this makes me.

We are a family of readers.  A and B probably read well over two hundred books annually.  J and I don't post those kinds of numbers (anymore), but we read regularly and with great enjoyment.  I had wondered whether K, the most talkative and extroverted of my children, would really come to love reading.  But I am now very hopeful.  She spent nearly two hours reading yesterday.  She read for an hour this morning before she ever got out of bed.  That's a good Truss Girl!

So if you're a parent who has watched one child hit this particular milestone and you've wondered whether it will lose its shine the second, third or fourth time around, let me assure you it will not.  I don't plan to have any more children.  But I already smile in anticipation of hearing a grandchild, a niece, a nephew read to me.  It never gets old.

MATURING

:becoming fully developed


K was home sick today.  While I've not referenced it a lot on my blog, we've had crazy weather of late.  School started back in session January 4, but we've yet to have a five day school week, thanks to snow, snow and more snow.  This week looks like one that will accommodate buses running their normal routes, so it will likely provide that elusive gift of five straight days at school - for all but K.

There's never a great time for your child to be sick and I freely admit that we are blessed with generally good health.  A and K didn't miss a single day of school last year and B only missed the very last half-day, thanks to a case of strep throat.  That's pretty remarkable for a family with three children in an elementary school, a veritable petri dish of illness, germs and assorted yuck.  So I've tried to accept K's fever with grace - and no small amount of gratitude.

Perhaps it seems odd to greet illness with gratitude, but as I lay in K's tiny twin bed with her last night, her body fiery beneath her pajamas, I was immensely grateful for readily available fever reducers like Tylenol.  Thanks to the country we live in, the medical advances of those who came before us and our economic means, we can easily obtain medicine to lower a fever.  It's an inconvenience, not an event to strike terror in my heart.  But were I another mom - born a century ago, living on another continent or mere miles from my own home, but with no money until the next paycheck - I could not simply pray for my child's comfort.  I would pray for her life.  If it takes a fever in a family member to jolt me out of my smug complacency, I will be grateful for the high temp and the medicine that reins it in.  As the day wore on and it became apparent that K's fever was not your garden variety, I was given cause to be even more grateful for the blessings I have.  A quick trip to the doctor confirmed strep throat and an injection of antibiotics coupled with a bit more Tylenol has K sleeping away at the moment.

K herself has given me much to be thankful for on a rainy day, stuck at home, missing out on my spiritual direction group.  Because this day alone with K was a reminder of similar days two or three years ago.  Days when A and B were in school and I had more alone time with K.  Back then, I was working part time and had one or two days weekly at home with K.  She was a challenging toddler, talking non-stop, seemingly unable to entertain herself, never able to get enough of being with me.  It was a bit stifling.

Today was different.  K stayed in bed after her sisters were up and moving.  But she emerged for breakfast, ate her oatmeal and then went back to her room to play.  She played quietly all alone there for a few hours, until she finally came out and asked to use the new stamps her Me Me had given her.  I helped her gather assorted materials and K got to work on making Valentine's cards for her classmates.  She made a few before her fever started creeping back up and I offered that rare weekday treat of TV time.

Perhaps a few hours of solo play and crafting doesn't sound like a big deal, but it's a big deal for this child.  K is the consummate extrovert, happiest when surrounded by people, most content with friends by her side.  Yet today she entertained herself in a way I feared she could never do.  It made me thankful, but it also made me realize how quickly and how much she is maturing.  The Kate of two years ago couldn't have played and created without more direction, participation and interaction from me.  Nor would she have wanted to.

K is not only growing up, she's developing skills she didn't have before.  This made me wonder whether I'm maturing along with her.  Am I the same Shannon I was two years ago?  I was encouraged to realize I'm not and one way I know that I'm not is that I was sad today.  Sad that K was sick, yes.  But also sad that I wasn't able to attend my monthly spiritual direction group, sad to not get my Tuesday alone while A is at tutorial.  Being sad doesn't mean I don't love K.  It doesn't mean I'm a bad mom.  Or a selfish person.  It's OK and even healthy for me to mourn life's little deaths and disappointments.  Today brought some of that, but it also brought a realization that I'm maturing and so is my K.

K playing with her toys on a healthier day

DETECTIVE

: one who discovers the existence of

This has been a Christmas season of finding our own way.  Of seeking to let go of the things that didn't fit or wouldn't work and clinging to the best this season has to offer for our family.  Today offered bountiful blessings: excited gift givers, delighted receivers, a white Christmas (my first!), lunch with family, time to ride new bikes on our quiet street, a snowball fight followed by hot chocolate to end the day.  All in all, a Christmas worth celebrating, even if it wasn't steeped in tradition.

Last year I started a tradition that I chose to continue this year: as my final gift to my daughters, I sit with each of them and give them a gift of words.  I sometimes feel like I am a detective: looking here and there for glimpses of who my daughters really are.  I don't think their actions define who they are any more than my actions define who I am, so how to figure out exactly who these wondrous beings are?  Just keep looking.  And, like any good detective, keep notes of your findings.

So I spent a bit of time telling my daughters that I know they are complex and awesome, but that I spent a bit of time and made a list of words that describe them as they are right now.  We agreed that these things may change and that my words do not define them - they get the pleasure of defining themselves.  Nevertheless, I want them to know how I see them.

Here were their lists (with one word for each year of age):

A

Dancer
Reader
Loyal Friend
Nurturing
Maturing
Beautiful
Imaginative
Listener
Giving
Cautious

B

Creative
Musical
Singer
Beautiful
Funny
Playful
Leader
Reader
Risk Taker

K

People-oriented
Generous
Helpful
Welcoming
Curious
Beautiful

My words to describe them have changed a lot in just one year.  But this has been a year that has brought plentiful, beautiful, painful, heartening and sad change, so who would expect them to do anything other than change, grow and discover more of who they are.

With treats for Santa

ORNAMENT

2 a : something that lends grace or beauty

K hanging an ornament on our tree

Sometimes I'm not sure who learns more from my mother/daughter relationships: me or my daughters.  I learn so much from them.  And they are often the lessons that I need the most.

Friday night, B and K spent some time crafting.  B made a three dimensional Christmas tree and a snow globe that was snowing on one side and had a hand gripping it on the other side.  K made only one thing: a Christmas tree adorned with every color of glitter glue available.  And she made it with one intent: to give it to our rector, Father J.  As she piled on the glitter, as she crafted a pipe cleaner star for the top of the tree, as she waited for the glue to dry, K talked about giving the ornament to Father J.

K patiently let her ornament dry overnight on Friday.  She even ate breakfast before asking if we could please take the ornament to Father J.  While nearly every part of me wanted to tell her to wait until today at church to give it to him, I knew it would be a long wait for her.  We didn't go to our regular church this morning because B was singing at another service, so if I had made K wait, she would have had to wait until this evening's family concert.

Let me make this perfectly clear: I am not the kind of person who shows up unexpectedly at people's doors to chat, say hi... or deliver something.  But K is exactly that kind of person.  She thinks that people are the most important thing in the world.  So I swallowed my hesitancy and drove K to Father J's house (which is in our neighborhood).  He was at the hardware store, but his wife graciously accepted K's ornament and put it on the tree.  K was satisfied and I survived stepping outside of my comfort zone.

K is similarly anxious for me to get to know our new next door neighbors.  This isn't an easy task in the dead of winter.  As I mentioned, I'm not a knock on your door kind of girl.  So I have a plan: we will bake cookies and deliver them together.

It's not that I don't like people.  I don't want to give you the impression that I'm a recluse.  But I do tend to feel awkward around strangers.  My solution?  To not talk to them.  This technique serves me well.  I stay safe in my comfort zone.  Do I miss opportunities to connect with people? Yes.  Do I miss opportunities to encourage others?  Probably.  Is this wrong of me?  Not exactly.  But I do think I choose my own comfort over people.  I choose to avoid interactions that make me uncomfortable because I am thinking about me.  I'm not thinking about whether the other person might want a kind word, a simple question or a response other than a smile from me.  I am thinking about me.

K, on the other hand, thinks about other people.  She notices them.  She reaches out to them.  Her world centers on relationship.  It would never occur to her to wonder whether Father J would want her ornament.  She was thinking of him and wanted to make something for him.  So she did.  For her, it was that simple.  I can learn so much from K's approach to people.  Instead of seeing them as something to flinch from, could I actually learn to see people and interactions with others as great blessings?  Could I learn to see people as ornaments of life that lend grace and beauty, rather than roadblocks to be dodged?

I think we each have our own personal hindrances to encountering God fully.  For me, my tendency to choose intellectualism over relationship is the barrier.  I have to work to remind myself that God doesn't just want me to know about him.  He wants me to know him.  If I had to guess, I would imagine K will never have this barrier.  Will she face her own struggles and need to grow in other areas?  Absolutely.  So I hope God is gracious enough to give her a daughter who teaches her some of the lessons she needs to learn.

GENEROUS

1. liberal in giving or sharing; unselfish

Today was snow day #2.  Snow day #1 started at 6:40 AM when J climbed out of bed and turned on the TV in the next room to check the condition of the roads.  I grumbled to myself, still more than half-asleep, "Why couldn't he check the weather on his phone?"   Today got off to a better - and later start.  Near 8:00, K came clomping up the stairs.  I opened my eyes to find her fully dressed, with mittens and coat on and a bag in her hand.

"Mom? Can you zip me up? I want to go to L's house and give him this gift."
"Honey, what's in the bag?  It's a little early to go to L's house."
"Oh!  It's a gift that will make it easy for L to play with his little brother."

The contents of the bag were a somewhat broken music box.  I convinced K not to head out pre-breakfast to give her friend a hand-me-down gift, but her point was this: I want to give L a gift.  So I explained to K that I would take her to the store later in the day to pick out a gift for him.  She did not forget.


Hours later, we were back from a trip to the downtown library.  A trip that revived our weary, cooped up souls with much needed time away from home and wonderful books to read.  We had barely finished our post-library lunch when K said, "Can we go buy the present now?"  Laundry beckoned, so I mumbled yet another excuse to this six year old whose heart was bursting to give, give, give.


My excuse did not dampen her enthusiasm.  I later found her climbing on the step stool to reach her birthday money, which she wanted to use to buy L's gift.  Seeing that, I set aside all the chores awaiting me and put on my coat.


A trip to the store energized K.  She picked a stocking, then candy to fill it, choosing items that L could share with his family.  As I type this post, K is finishing up a pre-dinner snack so that we can walk down the street and deliver the stocking.  She wants to wait while L looks through it and sees the treats she picked out for him.


Perhaps it shouldn't surprise me by now how much I learn from my daughters, but it has felt like a special treat to see generosity in action today with K.  She is, in fact, the very definition of generous: liberal in both giving and sharing, embodying this aspect of the Christmas spirit exceptionally well.  She delights to show others how she feels about them.  She delights to give others things that she has or things that she thinks they will like.  In fact, she simply delights in others.  

I need to learn over and over again that relationship is worth the hurt and pain it brings when done authentically.  I sometimes think life would be easier if I were a hermit, left to my own thoughts and unencumbered by possessions and obligations.  That life probably would be easier for me, but it's apparently not the life I'm called to.  Because relationship is a vehicle for change, a vehicle to change me into who God made me to be.  If left to my own devices, without the iron sharpening iron effect of relationship, I would likely still be far more selfish, far more ambitious and far less creative, amongst other things.

 

I'm not as naturally generous as K.  This is due, in part, to my tendency to protect myself emotionally.  K lays it all out there - there's no such thing as less than total transparency with her.  This is beautiful - and terrifying.  Her heart will surely be broken time and again if she continues to lay herself open to people the way she does now.  I don't want her heart broken, but I also don't want her heart hardened.  I want her to remain the exuberant, loving, generous girl she is.  And I want to keep learning from her - about how to give freely and how to live with abandon.

PO'CORN

1. Kate's pronunciation of popcorn

The first time J took me to a movie, he bought popcorn for us to share.  It had probably been years since I last had popcorn at a movie.  In high school, I was too cheap and/or too concerned with my weight to eat popcorn during a movie.  So it was a novelty to eat popcorn with J that day.  Little did I know popcorn was to be a regular, frequent and favorite part of our lives for years to come.

J loves popcorn.  He comes by this honestly.  His dad pops up huge batches of it, pours it straight from the pot into large bowls, butters and salts it liberally and passes it around.  J learned from the best.  Over the years, this husband of mine has perfected his popcorn technique.  He pops one batch for the girls and I (salt, no butter) and another for himself (butter and salt).  For special occasions, he pops rosemary brown butter popcorn.  Yes, it is as good as it sounds.


Our girls have eaten popcorn nearly all their lives.  I think A was a tiny toddler when J popped her first bite into her mouth.  The same was true for B.  But K.  K is the popcorn loving daughter J was meant to have.  She even has her own name for it: po'corn.  (It is essential to drop the second "p" when saying it.  Try it.  It's very, very cute.)  While I know she will outgrow this pronunciation one day, I don't look forward to the day.  I love that she has her very own name for her favorite treat.


Yesterday brought a busy morning - A to ballet at 9.  B to choir at 10.  Pick up A at 11.  Pick up B at 12.  While A & I were picking up B from choir practice, J and K were having a po'corn party.  Nothing makes K happier than po'corn with her dad.  She eats every morsel he puts in her bowl and asks for more.  In fact, I suspect that with A and B gone today, K was probably given a larger bowl than either of her sisters.  It may even have been the buttered variety. 


K has always been a momma's girl.  She was far more attached to me than either of her sisters, which is somewhat baffling to me since she's the least like me of the three.  So it's nice to see her curl up with her dad and a bowl of po'corn.

Daughter/Father Bonding circa 2008

INDEPENDENT

1. not influenced or controlled by others in matters of opinion, conduct, etc.; thinking or acting for oneself.

I am raising such independent daughters.  In the main, I consider this a good thing.  A great thing, even.  But that's when I take the long view.  In the short term, it can be frustrating, disappointing or even a little sad.  Sometimes it's all three of these things at once.

Tuesday was K's Thanksgiving Luncheon at school.  I had RSVP'd to her teacher that I would be there, but hadn't mentioned it to K.  She was pleased to see me when she walked into the hallway and chattered away as we walked to the cafeteria.  As a treat (is this really a treat?), I let K buy her lunch.  It's the first time this school year she's purchased lunch instead of eating a lunch packed at home, so she was excited to stand in line and give her money to the cashier.  After she had her tray, there was much debating about where to sit.  She wanted to sit by P, then by M.  The tables were rather full at this point.  I asked K if she wanted to move to another table.  That wasn't a good option since she wanted to be sitting with her friends.  We finally settled down beside K's friend P and K started to eat  her turkey and dressing.  

After a few bites, K leaned over and said to me, "You can go now."
Me: "Go where, honey? Do you need me to get you something?"
K: "No, you can go sit at another table."
Me: "Don't you want me to stay with you while you eat your lunch?"
K: "Is it OK with you if you go?  I want to eat with P."
Me: "Well, OK.  But if I go, I'm not going to go sit at a table by myself.  I came to eat with you."
K: "I can sit by you next Thanksgiving, right?"
Me: "Sure you can.  Are you positive that you want me to go?"
K: "Yes. You go home."
Me: "Can I have a hug and a kiss before I go?"

After several hugs and kisses, I headed out.feeling a mixture of pride, disappointment and amusement.  I'm frankly a bit proud of K that she was willing to admit she'd rather have lunch with her friend than with me.  I was a bit disappointed that she chose the friend over me, but felt far more amusement at the situation than anything else.  It's rare that I join my children for lunch at school.  It's hard to talk over the din in the cafeteria, they enjoy their time with peers and I would rather eat my lunch at home than pack it up to eat in a cafeteria.  So as I signed up and joined K for lunch, I was thinking this was a treat for her.  Turns out that was more my impression than hers.  Which was fine.

Until my cell phone rang about ten minutes after I'd left.  Turns out K changed her mind and had been crying since I left.  Ahh, the joys of parenting, where conceding to a child's wish leaves her in tears.  Oh, well.  We can sit together next Thanksgiving, right?

CATERPILLAR

:the elongated wormlike larva of a butterfly or moth

Last fall, B found a monarch caterpillar.  She loved him and named him Artie (after Artemis Fowl (Artemis Fowl #1)).  She cared so much for him that we borrowed a butterfly habitat from her second grade teacher so that we could watch him transform into a butterfly.  B knew exactly what to do for this caterpillar:  she knew which leaves he would eat, she knew when it was time for him to make his chrysalis, she knew it would take a while for him to emerge and she was completely willing to let him go when the time was right.

Last week, K found a caterpillar.  A different, unknown kind of caterpillar.  She wanted to keep him.  B now owns a butterfly habitat (thank you Uncle J and Aunt A), so we had a place for him to live.  K found him on a branch, so we knew which leaves he would eat.  We looked him up online to see what kind of butterfly he would turn into and found out he'll eventually be a moth, not a butterfly.  K wanted to keep him anyway.  Like B, she named her caterpillar Artie (which pretty much infuriated B, but that's another story).

Unlike B, who took care of Artie the First, K is a little afraid of her caterpillar.  She doesn't want to collect the leaves or put them into the habitat for him. She wants me to do that.  She certainly doesn't want to clean caterpillar poop out of the habitat or remove the branches after Artie the Second is done munching.  But she still cares about the caterpillar.  When K found Artie the Second, he was bright green with yellow spots.  A few days into our caretaking, he turned a brown color.  I, of course, was afraid we'd killed him.  But it turns out he was just changing colors.  He's still hanging out days after his color swap, gulping down leaves like nobody's business and showing absolutely no signs of heading into that chrysalis.  Which, frankly, it a bit of a problem since we leave in about three hours to go out of town for the weekend.

We can't exactly bring him with us.  We probably have room for him in the van, but where would we find the right leaves?  What if he decided to form his chrysalis on the trip and got knocked loose?  What if my husband threw me out of the van for suggesting he drive twenty hours with an insect on board?  (He's not a bug guy, this man of mine.)

I jokingly said, "Too bad we can't find someone to babysit for us for the weekend."  At which point J offered a fabulous solution: "You know, I think O is the kind of child who would gladly babysit a caterpillar."  He was right.  Even better, O's mom is a fun, engaging mom who has gone on many an adventure with her children.  And I had a feeling she wouldn't think I was completely crazy for asking her to feed our bug for a weekend.  I was right. 

K will be so relieved since I warned her this morning, "Honey, if Artie doesn't make his cocoon before we leave, we'll have to let him go.  He can't make it all weekend without us and we can't take him with us to the wedding."  She said OK, but I was envisioning heart breaking sobs, pitiful tears and/or numerous complaints when the time came to actually put Artie back in our yard.

I'm thankful once again for the opportunity to see a life transformed.  I'm thankful that K watches her big sister B and learns from her.  I'm thankful for a husband who thinks creatively and a friend who is willing to babysit a larvae for a weekend.  Life is good.

TREAT

1 a : an entertainment given without expense to those invited b : the act of providing another with free food, drink, or entertainment
2 : an especially unexpected source of joy, delight, or amusement

Mid-morning today, K went down to the basement.  I figured she was playing - she and her sisters had been playing down there with barbies, puzzles and a chalkboard.  I didn't think much of it - until she came running through the dining room and went straight into her room, with something behind her back.  Highly suspicious.

"K?  Come here, please," I called.  She came running back in.  (She runs everywhere.  Why walk when you can run?)
"Yes, Mom?"  she says with empty hands.
"What did you get in the basement?" I ask with a smile.
"Oh!  I got bags.  I want to make a treat for everyone in the family! You! Dad! A! B! And even me!"

While tiny K is vibrating with excitement, I'm not quite as thrilled.  Her "treats" tend to result in a lot of mess for me to clean up and sometimes are less than thrilling for the recipients.  (She once fed us bananas with cracked black pepper as a treat.)  She runs into her room to get the gift bags she procured in the basement.  She has a good assortment - masculine, feminine, Christmas, Easter, name your style, she's got it.  And she wants to fill them all with treats for her family.

To buy myself a bit of time, I tell K she must first clean her room before she makes our treats.  I head to her room to give guidance and supervise while she cleans and I read my book.  I only bought myself an hour or so, but I did get a cleaner child's room out of the arrangement.

Later, I come down from the treadmill to find K perched on a barstool that she's pulled up to the kitchen counter.  Scattered around her smiling face are boxes - of a great assortment of foods.  She's put these foods into a large tupperware container and is brimming with excitement: 

"When is Daddy coming home?" she asks. 
"Not for another seven hours, honey." 
"Oh.  But I want to share my treat with him."
"Well, you can share with A and B now and save some for Daddy."
"Okay!"

It's now nearly twelve hours after K mixed her treat.  In that time, she has taken it down the street to share with a neighbor, filled a bowl for each of her sisters and her father, hidden in the basement to munch on it and shared with me from the original container.  On the surface, her treat was comprised of fruit loops, cheddar rice cakes, M & Ms, cheese crackers, peanuts, chex mix and sour Yogos, but the real treat was sharing in K's enthusiasm, a trait she effortlessly embodies.

PICNIC

1 : an excursion or outing with food usually provided by members of the group and eaten in the open

Sometimes the easiest requests from my children are the hardest to fulfill. Monday, K comes to me in the morning and says, “Can we have a picnic?!” As she asks this, she is nearly vibrating with excitement.  I, on the other hand, am standing in the kitchen, filling my water bottle in preparation for the treadmill. “Not right now, honey. I need to exercise. Let’s do a picnic after we go to the grocery store.”  My plan is to head to the store as soon as I finish my work out. “Ok!” K replies, her enthusiasm only slightly dampened by the idea of postponing the picnic for a few hours.

Fast forward a few hours. I’ve hit the treadmill and the shower, then played lunch lady to three girls, two of whom are still in their pajamas. It’s only noon and I’m exhausted. After clearing away the remnants of lunch, I read for a bit, check e-mail and research a few more books for our home school reading list (it only has 98 or so books on it, I’m sure I need to add a few more). Then I remember: this is the last week to turn in my intent to home school letter without paying a penalty.  I move with a bit more alacrity.

I print the form, fill it out and search the house for proof that I have a high school diploma. Lacking evidence of finishing high school, I grab my college diploma and hope a copy of that will suffice. The documents gathered, I tell A and B to put on real clothes for the first time that day. They grumble a bit about having to relinquish their pajamas, but subside when I remind them that it’s 2 pm, well past the time for PJs.

I combine the trip to the school board with a trip to the grocery store and by 4 in the afternoon feel like maybe I have actually accomplished something for the day. K makes one more feeble attempt to have a picnic, but her timing is poor: like her sisters, she chooses the moment when I am unpacking the groceries to ask for something. Coming on the heels of A’s request for a popsicle and B’s request for fruit, K's request for a picnic is not well received. I want nothing more than to get the groceries put away and sit for a moment. So I throw popsicles to everyone and sit while I eat mine.

An hour later, we’re in the van taking A to a dance rehearsal. On our way home, K says to me in a small voice, “Are we ever going to have a picnic?” Her voice is quiet, her tone gentle.  There is not the slightest hint of a whine.  My heart breaks. The poor child had been waiting all day long for me to help her have a picnic.  I have failed miserably. I've been selfish, distracted, busy.  Too busy for a picnic?  What kind of mom am I?

Rain is threatening and our dinner of eggplant parmigiana isn’t particularly conducive to dining al fresco. So I offer a meager substitute: an indoor picnic in the living room.  K does not complain.  She gets to work laying out a blanket, assigning positions to our family around it.  We eat dinner and she is mollified, if not satisfied.

And Tuesday morning? Coffee. Clothing. Picnic at the Park.  Followed by Las Paletas to further rectify my failings the day before.  Better late than never, I suppose.