Kiddo is officially in school, and Tiny and I have been spending the last few mornings in the park next door. Tiny is getting more and more skilled at climbing stairs and going down slides, and she has even met up with some kids her size. Life is extremely exciting for her right now.
I'm so proud of how Kiddo is doing in school this week. It sounds like she's really focused and working hard. It helps that she has to do it all in less than three hours plus homework. There's no time to get bored or lose focus. I'm interested to see what will happen next year, when she might be in a typical middle school, with class changes and multiple teachers.
I might not be acting like the best mother right now, though, because I have two new books that I want to read instead of scampering up into the play structure, praying that it will hold my weight (although the little cry of "Come on, Mommy!" is deeply appealing).
Bunmi Laditan's Dear God came out about a month ago, but the library only handed it over to me in the last week or so. I have been following Bunmi's work since The Honest Toddler, which got me through Kiddo's toddler years. Her view of the world has helped me so much over the last decade, making me feel less alone as a mother who regularly fails at Pinterest and "quality" mothering. Her exploration of her relationship with religion and the almighty in a series of letters and poems is touching and compulsively readable. I was about two pages in when I decided I needed to send a copy to my sister, a chaplain in a recovery center. I think she might appreciate it.
The other book showed up in the past few days and has been making me laugh inappropriately since--Broken (in the best possible way) by Jenny Lawson. Jenny Lawson was the first blogger I ever read who was honest about her mental health struggles. As all the other Mom-bloggers shared lasagna recipes and tittered about potty training crises, Jenny was sharing the pitfalls of living with a brain that sometimes wants to kill you. In between, she shared the joy of living a quirky, creative life with a patient, loving family who embraces her oddities, as long as they don't show up in the background of conference calls. I may have let Tiny discover just how good she is at kicking wood chips while I snorted and giggled my way through a conversation between Jenny and her sister on the merits of adopting a bearcat as a pet and the possibilities of her husband being a bearcat in disguise. Children need to see that their parents appreciate books.
Am I alone in wishing I could post signs on my toddler? I feel like that might make me feel better suited when interacting with the other parents. She needs one that says, "My older sibling picked out my clothes," another that reads, "I almost went to sleep later than my parents last night," one more that says, "I was bundled into a jacket before Mom saw what shirt I was wearing," and finally, "I was offered a balanced breakfast, but I didn't eat any of it. I now regret this choice." It's possible that adults need some of these signs, too. If only we could know what another person's day looked like before they came to us, we all might treat each other better.
For now, I will be the mother perched on the retaining wall, giggling at the yellow hardcover. There's a good chance I ate the leftovers of a balanced breakfast for breakfast, and I'm not sure what shirt I'm wearing either. I guess I should have looked at it before putting on this jacket.
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