The kids these days

*Note-- this post was started on Tuesday.  Sometimes it takes three nights to finish a post because you can't seem to stay awake after 10pm.  And that's OK.

I will preface this post with the understatement of the year:  This summer has been rather busy. (and its not over yet!  Really!  We went to the beach today, and anytime I can go barefoot in the lake and come home with sand in my shoes, its still summer...) Jam-packed full with travel and sunshine and joy and sorrow, new experiences and traditions and lots and lots of do- ing... wonderful, but rather lacking in time for reflection, you know?  I am feeling that my blogging practice has disintegrated, sliding into nothing more than a chronicling of the places we've been, a timeline of the events as they race along.  Valuable, in an archival sense... but drifting from the original stated purpose of the blog ("a place to recount her thoughts on motherhood so far...") and not moving appreciably towards my nebulous goal of the blog being something...more.

So tonight, while the endorphins from a challenging choir practice are still fueling my brain, a moment to reflect.  

I want to write about so many things.  Our society seems to be rife with noble causes lately, and my heart is ready to rally.  Mass shootings, high stakes testing, childhood cancer, restrictions in reproductive rights-- I am ready to fight these plagues with pen and sword.  Just as soon as I do the dishes and pack some lunches and get to bed so I can wake up and get to the gym and plan for school and... I'm ready to fight except that I'm not.  It seems that I just haven't figured out how to balance the time and energy and expectations of my lovely, ordinary middle-class life, with the time and energy needed to really take action and make a difference.  

I am hoping that someday I'll get there.  And one of these nights I am going to start by at least WRITING about changing the world.

But not tonight.  Because even as I yearn for the time and wherewithal to change the world, and dream of someday "having it all," (you know-- having a job, a family, a clean house AND time to sit and read a book. The impossible dream, right?), my actual life is flying by as scenic blips on a register of people and places and events.  Evidence A:  The sheer size of these two children of mine.  

I used to have babies in my house!  Really,  I did. 

Now, I have these two. 

Before they get any bigger, before all of the yearning and wishing and balancing gets in the way of real noticing, I want to take a moment to record them as they are, in this moment of their lives.  

Ivy, age 5 years and 4 months:

This girl is a trip and a half.  Eyes twinkling, she's always got an idea.  Or twelve.  She knows just what to do and just what to say and she's never at a loss for words.  She is very into playing veterinarian right now, wherein we gather all the stuffed animals and carefully check their blood pressure, pantomime bandaging various sore parts, and give lots and lots of shots.  Today we dealt with the sad case of a turtle who, according to the "phone call" from Ivy in the playroom, "is very very soft and his shell is on fire.  And he has a sore foot and a sore eye."  That was a tough one. Another favorite pastime?  Being a cat.  We play "pet store," wherein Ivy lays on our bed, meowing and squirming about, and I get to come "buy her" and carry her about and pet her. She carefully guides the naming process so that I "choose" the perfect one.  Recently, she's been Shilah.  I like that one.  Tonight, with the addition of a new, pink-plumed Halloween mask, she became "Wonderbird."

Then, she made me the wicked witch and then we had to sit down with two notebooks and read our parts to get ready for putting on a play.  "No, mom!  Read the part FIRST, then we do the show!  Look... (points to blank page)... here!  Aha!   I know what to do now!"  Spells were cast, Wonderbird danced about, and I was transformed into a Love Witch.   I could not love her more.

She's doing wonderfully in Kindergarten so far, at least as far as we can tell. It's a little strange to have a child who actuall likes to talk about her school day.  We get detailed descriptions of her curriculum, renditions of the songs they learn, repetition of the little "sayings" her teachers use... (I need to stop my engine!  Keep your bubble in your mouth, mom!).   She seems slightly dismayed that "all we're doing is cutting and coloring, cutting and coloring"-- I think she expected to walk in the door and *snap* be reading like Jack-- but she is careful to do her best work with it all, and proud of her results.  As I'd hoped, it seems her teacher-pleaser tendencies are winning out over her willful opinions while at school.  Life's just easier for teacher pleasers, that's all there is to it.  I'm not worried that she'll lose her fire. She's got plenty to spare!

Thinking of kiddos doing well at school-- this one is rocking Third grade so far.  Jack, at 8 years and one month:

Indulge me in a momma-brag moment, will you?  Not only is this boy exceedingly tall and terribly handsome,  but we've just learned he has also qualified for pull-out services in the gifted program at school.   This is obviously based on his uncanny talent for producing both armpit AND knee-pit farts. ; )  Actually, and interestingly, his test scores in the areas of Social Studies and Creative Thinking were his entree into the program.  How does one show giftedness in Social Studies, pray tell?  But--I shan't look this gift horse in the mouth.  We are already thrilled with his education here in the CH-UH schools, but we are told things get even better for kiddos who get into this program.  So, yay!  I mean, I loved Jack beyond measure and considered him perfect the day before we got this letter, and nothing has really changed... but it is nice to have my high opinion of my boy validated by an outside source, nd very exciting to know that more doors will be open to him in the future.  I'll be the first to say that tests aren't the measure of a child- yet scores do seem to make the world go round, these days.  I am grateful that, at least for now, they are in Jack's favor. 

Let me tell you one thing, though-- being identified as gifted does not make one's eight year old suddenly act less... Eight.  Eight year olds are very very strange creatures.  The armpit farts!  Did I mention the armpit farts?  He's a maniac.  He's also obsessed with minecraft (no surprise) and follows several Youtubers (that's a thing now) and collects and trades minecraft minifigures, and often responds to questions with the word "Meap".  He insatiably harrasses his sister, and seems to thrive on making her whine.  He can't sit down when he eats.  He can't decide if he wants to hold our hands or not.  He shifts from snuggly-sweet to angsty elbows in a heartbeat.  He will work for screentime.  Sometimes he runs around like a banshee for no apparent reason. He loves our bunny and chickens and still aspires to pet store ownership, though he also thinks he might become a professional Youtuber (did I mention that that's a thing??).  He reads voraciously, as long as its a book about mythology. He is developing a sense of humour, one that verges on the sardonic. He is constantly thinking of ways to spend his money.  He gives terrific hugs.  

I could go on, of course.  Every day there are ten thousands things they say or do, that I want to celebrate, share, capture, keep.  I so often wish I had a video recording for my life, to hold on to all the little moments, their choice of words, the turn of their smiles, their silly dances and the timbre of their voices right now.  It all flies by too fast, before I can possibly put it into words.  But I will try to try more often, I will. 

(As I type this, I am missing my dad.  I wish he was eagerly waiting by his computer, impatient to read this post. I think he'd like it.  I wish I'd written something for him every single day...)