1m2aSandbox

Recently Maddie’s been rather indifferent about food – and by “food” I mean anything but dessert. There is absolutely no ennui in her attitude towards sugar. But for regular meals, she’ll take all morning to decide what she wants for breakfast – half a bowl of cereal – then procrastinate for an hour over lunch, then eat a decent dinner (perhaps because she doesn’t get to choose that meal). This has left me saying, “What do you want for lunch, Maddie?” over and over again, only getting an answer from her right after I’ve sat down and put my feet up to eat my own lunch.

So a few days ago, I finally said, “Maddie, if you do not tell me what you want for lunch in the next five minutes, I will not make anything for you. If you are hungry, you will need to provide for yourself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I heard from behind a book.

Dear Camp Counselor of Maddie’s Day Camp:

Last Friday as Maddie was finishing her breakfast on the last morning of her week-long school-sponsored day camp, she said, “Mom, can you set up a playdate with one of my counselors?” Turns out she had so much fun with her over the week that she wanted to keep the new friendship going. I explained that older girls wouldn’t come over for a play date, but as a babysitter, to which Maddie responded, “Then the next time you go out, will you call her to be my babysitter?”

“I’ll look into it,” I said, then added, “How will I know which camp counselor to ask? You have two of them!”

“Oh, it’s easy,” Maddie replied. “I want you to invite the one who likes kids, not the other one.”

Have you guessed, Camp Counselor? You are the “other one”.

At the pool last night Maddie met two older girls, fifth graders who were, of course, incredibly cool to Maddie. They were kind girls and allowed Maddie to attach herself to them for most of the evening. They played games with her and paid attention to her – to an extent. But after a while enough was enough and they paused on the other side of the pool to hang out and gossip, big-girl style.

Maddie, desperate to get their attention back, climbed out of the pool, stood at the edge, and said, “Hey, guys! GUYS!” The girls looked up politely.

“Watch me!” Maddie shouted. “I’m going to say ‘Mickey Mouse’ in slow motion!”

What?

Maddie and Cora have both been in camp this week, and I have to admit, it’s nice having a couple hours of space to try to get back on top of my domestic life. I adore having the girls out of school, and we’ve positively wallowed in our togetherness – copious hours by the pool, multiple rounds of Go Fish and dance-a-thons, and so on. But as we spend so much time hanging out, other things fall by the wayside: suddenly I’m doing laundry in fits and spurts, and may get three loads washed one day but take almost a week to get them folded and put away. Small things break down in the house and simply don’t get fixed.

And as for housecleaning –well, let’s just say don’t look at my toilets too closely.

A couple people asked me after yesterday’s post to elaborate on our bedtime arrangement – how the girls get to color in their room, etc.

So here it is.

I’ve written a few times before about love languages, and how I can see the girls developing differently in that area. They’re becoming more clearly defined, and I love to see their individuality, even as I see them both happily moving forward and reaching out in each individual language.

Cora is a big Words and Affirmation girl, and is more comfortable saying, “I love you so much, Mommy,” out of the blue, than any other kid I’ve seen. Her comfort with verbal intimacy is humbling, and makes me work harder to meet that and respond to her in her own words.

And while Cora is striving mightily to read and write, she’s not QUITE there yet – she can laboriously sound out “To” and “From” and “Love You” but isn’t quite up to writing letters. So she does the next best thing.

I taught all morning yesterday while the girls stayed home with Gamma, and when I returned just in time for lunch I opened the door into my kitchen –

And found a puppy barking on my floor.

No, not a real puppy. Don’t panic.

Our city offers a really great program – free outdoor concerts every Monday during June - and most years we find at least once band we’re interested in seeing. This past Monday, we hit the city park to listen to a Beatles’ tribute band.

And boy, did we have a good time.

Dear Maddie:

Last week you asked me to take a picture of you on the day before your birthday, then take a picture on the morning of your birthday, print them both up, affix them to paper (your instructions were specific), and then turn it over to you. You want desperately to see if you notice a difference between your six-year-old picture and your seven-year-old picture.

Don’t bother looking, kiddo. I can see it well enough for both of us.

What has happened this past year? You’ve grown so much – and I’m not talking physically, though a friend of mine described you and a friend of yours, accurately, as “Great Dane puppies” just last week. And I’m not talking emotionally, though the difference between you at the end of kindergarten and you at the end of first grade is night and day.

No, what I’m talking about is how you’ve grown as a unique individual.

Every day this week Maddie presses me about her upcoming birthday in some fashion: asking if it’s too late to add to her wish list (yes), wanting to know if I’m getting stuff done for her party this weekend (of course), and wondering aloud whether or not she’ll look significantly different on the morning of her birthday.

‘Cause she’s aging and all.

This weekend Maddie and I were driving through some farm country when I spied a curious sight out the window.

“Look, Maddie!” I cried, and pointed to a group of horses – one of whom was wearing what I can only describe as an equine version of a 1950’s rain over-coat. You know the ones: A translucent plastic that folds up into your purse, but when the rain starts Voila! You’ve got a see-through raincoat that’s tailored like a lovely day dress. The horse didn’t seem to mind and was munching away on some hay while sporting a semi-translucent plastic coat, tailored over his whole body. It snapped at the neck, wrapped around his withers, and came partway down his tail, as if made for his measurements.