It’s been a good, long day. I’m going to keep staring at these precious feet for a while longer. He will outgrow these shoes within a week, I’m afraid.

It’s been a good, long day. I’m going to keep staring at these precious feet for a while longer. He will outgrow these shoes within a week, I’m afraid.

It’s been a good, long day. I’m going to keep staring at these precious feet for a while longer. He will outgrow these shoes within a week, I’m afraid.

Trust me, he wasn’t thirsty; he’s just discriminating.
Which reminds me: Today at lunch, when mom placed a plate of lentils in front of Ford, he shot me doe eyes from the table and fawned, “Aren’t we having wine with this?” We laughed at what he might be asking for during snacktime at school a few hours later. Mint-infused sippy mojitos? Icy Kool-Aid cosmopolitans?

School. It has been a very good thing. We start the day with breakfast and either go somewhere for the morning or have fun at home when he’s fresh. Then we lunch, read and rest until 3pm, when off we walk to the schoolhouse. When we arrive, he lurches out of the jogger onto the playground, dismissing the teachers and plunging into play. I chit chat with faculty, and leave to run errands with Chas. All the while, Chas is either asleep or restful, engaged and content; it’s a lot of fun having the one-on-one time with him. Three hours pass, we return down to the school, and Ford pours bubbly bucketfuls of enthusiasm in my ears. I give him a juice box, we walk home, eat dinner, clean up and read Harry Potter. It really has been that perfect. The best of both worlds: having him home when I’m at my best, having a break when I’m more tired in the afternoon–he benefits from having playpals and square footage when he’s his most physically atomic, and time with me when he’s most quietly engaged. Way cool.

Mom and Dad arrived this evening with a truckful of potted plants from their home in Houston, and with the refrigerated rain they are all perky and ready for me to spend time with them, rearranging them in the garden while Chas chases balls into the street and Ford runs around the yard in the buff. But seriously, when I do get a moment, I’ll enjoy putzing around the garden, rearranging them. To distract me even more, the Wildflower Center is having their Fall plant sale tomorrow morning.
I’m beginning to get more excited about the land again. This weekend we will scatter and stomp wildflower seeds around the grounds, tuck a few perennials here and there. Add a totem or two. It’s time.

This just in–new phrases from Chas: “All done” (sounds more like “ah-duh” followed by a flinching refusal to eat another bite of food), and “Woof!” He is also less afraid of dogs, but at the same time Clingy with a capital WTF on me. Annoying, but with so many lovely chunks to hold, how can I really complain?

It was eleven this morning, and we had eaten breakfast, cleaned up, brushed teeth, read a book, and the next sequence (even though out of sequence) was “wash face and get dressed” for Ford. He balked, meanwhile charming his way to watching I Robot,eventually turning the movie on outright, and I started losing it, irrationally complaining that I have no control over my kids. I was so ruffled over trying to get the kids out the door by noon, for chrissakes that I was starting to jerk my weight around and complain about not having enough control all the while. Damon walked into the room and pulled my horses to a screeching halt with his lucid analysis. He told me to rephrase “I have no control over the kids” (a self-centered, gun-in-the-foot approach) to “What does Ford need right now? What needs to happen?” (goal-oriented approach). It was an amazing moment of silence in my raging brain. All the birds swooped down to the tree branches, the monkeys stopped throwing papayas at me and the “to do” list tickertape died. It’s one of the things I love most about Damon, his ability to help me regain control over my temper (which translates to forgetting about regaining control over the kids), because hostility and irrational moments are part of my makeup as much as moments of clarity and calm. So thank you, again. I needed that, so did Ford.

Ford is now in an afterschool program from 3-6pm. It was quiet today even with Chas whining in the background as I did mundane chores, but it was a deafening kind of quiet, and I felt a little out of balance as I putzed the hours away. I missed the din of his bubbly monologues and the nonstop questions, meanwhile wondering whether it’s time I did something new to really make myself happy.

On Saturday, a trip to the music store to get strings turned into a trip to get 6 more: Ford asked for his own guitar and we flat out bought him one. And do you know what? He’s picked it up like a natural. Here he is playing Mozart’s Minuet in G. Minus the Mozart. And the minuet part. But the G–he’s got that,, and I can’t believe how his fingers are already able to wrap themselves around the fretboard to play a chord. It’s amazing.

On Saturday, a trip to the music store to get strings turned into a trip to get 6 more: Ford asked for his own guitar and we flat out bought him one. And do you know what? He’s picked it up like a natural. Here he is playing Mozart’s Minuet in G. Minus the Mozart. And the minuet part. But the G–he’s got that,, and I can’t believe how his fingers are already able to wrap themselves around the fretboard to play a chord. It’s amazing.