Yesterday I cooked five dishes in one two-hour burst. This wasn’t my idea of fun, but a first practice run.
I go back to work in three weeks. I will be gone almost twelve hours daily, leaving me with just one waking hour each evening to spend with my kiddos.
I want to spend every minute of that with my kids.
Every. Single. One.
So, for now and once each week before returning, I’m building my cooking multitasking muscles by cooking many large dishes in one short burst.
Driving to preschool this morning, still aching at the thought of being separated from my kids so much, I interrupted my four-year-old’s Ninja Turtle drawing. “Soon we won’t have this much time together every morning, so I’m glad we have it now.”
“Are you going back to work?” he inquired, still drawing. Read more…
I knew something was wrong with my son’s new school the moment I absorbed the incident report.
My initial response was horror. “My sweet, sensitive son did that? What on earth is happening at the school for him to do such a thing?”
Exhausted from tending to his baby brother and in the throes of post partum depression, I focused my chagrin on him. “I am so disappointed in you!” I told him repeatedly as we drove home.
“But he told me I had to!” Read more…
Just 3.5 weeks ago, I was excited to see my four-year-old son start an alternative academic adventure.
The weeks since have been brutal on him. They have been so brutal, in fact, that he will not be returning to the new school when its gates open today. Read more…
My Friday evening took a scary, unexpected turn when a neighbor intercepted my son and me on our porch. “Come here,” he told my three-year-old son, Li’l D. Li’l D hid behind my legs.
Conversations with this neighbor had been friendly to date, so I smiled and said, “Nope. That’s not likely to happen. He saw a cricket on the door, and he’s convinced all bugs are out to get him!”
My neighbor ignored me, instead addressing my son again. “I told you to come here.” He held out his hand and said, “Come here and take my hand.”
Bemused by the weird turn of the conversation, I said, “No. I don’t believe in forcing kids to respond to adults, even close friends. It’s important training for them learning to trust their instincts.”
Again my neighbor ignored me and demanded my son respond to him. Li’l D planted himself more firmly behind my legs. Again, more vehemently, I said, “No.”
“How are you raising him?!” my neighbor demanded, finally addressing me. Read more…