Last year at preschool, David’s class sang a song that he called the Octopus Song, even though it’s actually called the Butterfly Song. He specifically loved the line, “If I were an octopus, I’d thank you Lord for my good looks.” And because he loved the song so much, and because he related so much to
David is five years old today. FIVE! And he still weighs less than the amount of weight I gained when I was pregnant with him. Everyone knows about the terrible twos, and then you have a three-nager. There is no similar catch-phrase for four-year olds. Or if there is I’ve never heard it. Four was such
On her last day of school, Mary Virginia did not want to get dressed, eat breakfast, or let me fix her hair. She definitely did not want to stand on the stairs, and look directly into the sun while I took her photo. She’s dressed and on her way to school because, even though she didn’t want
Last fall I took the kids to get new shoes before school. I went to a particular store in Richmond, one that has a reputation for how well they measure and fit shoes for children. Because of this reputation, I consciously ignore their high prices and the 47 other shoe stores I pass while driving
A few weeks ago I was filling out a preschool application for Mary Virginia. The application asked lots of questions to help the teachers get to know her, including some of her social and academic skills. One question asked which numbers she could recognize, and I wasn’t sure how to answer. Then I thought about
David started preschool over two years ago, just a few weeks after his second birthday (Mary Virginia was barely three months old). Back then he wasn’t potty trained, had no hair, and was barely speaking in sentences. And, he didn’t have an opinion about what he wore so I was able to coordinate his clothes with the
Sometime after Christmas a particular virus hopped on a bulldozer and drove straight into our cozy happy house. The fever and cough started with Mary Virginia, a few days later Thomas got it, then just hours after Thomas’s fever broke, David sidled up to Tom and asked him to put him to bed. The next day, David’s fever climbed,
Me, talking to Tom: Did we decide we want to have P-I-Z-Z-A for dinner? David: Mommy, did you just say “pizza” in letters?
Most mornings, David asks me how we’re going to spend the day. Often, he asks if we can go to the children’s museum. No, I tell him over and over. We aren’t going to the museum. Inevitably he asks why and I tell him the truth: Because Mommy’s afraid to go to the museum with
There was a time in David’s life when he wasn’t a picky eater. He ate every single thing we put in front of him. Green beans! Butternut squash! Catfish! Tofu! I’m ashamed to admit I was smug. I gave myself credit for his palate. I had, after all, done everything right. Then one day David became