1m2aSandbox

A couple days ago, Cora asked me why I haven’t bought Pirate Booty recently; that and Veggie Booty have been regular snack treats in our house, and it was a fair question.

I explained to Cora that one of the main ingredients in Booty is corn, and over 85% of corn in the USA is genetically modified. I’d called Robert’s Snacks, combed their websites, sent emails – and been told explicitly that yes, they use genetically altered crops. And while our diet may not be 100% GMO-free, it’s rather close, and that’s on purpose.

I’m not trying to get into a conversation on GMO foods here – that’s a much longer post, believe me, and I’ve made it a couple times. But this did lead us to a child-level version of that conversation, and I spent a few painful minutes talking through GMO crops and why we choose not to eat them with the girls.

Yesterday was dominated by a bad weather threat all over north Texas; after the events in Oklahoma on Monday I spent the entire morning working on turning my fear over to God and leaving Him in control of my girls. Not an easy task when you’re a mama, but I tried. As I saw the weather forecast predicting that the bad storm would hit right around school pick-up time, I decided to play it safe and had the girls come home from school after lunch.

In other words, Early Release Day.

In other words, Extra Play Day.

Yesterday afternoon Maddie came out of school distinctly subdued. She had a couple papers in her hand and immediately handed me her backpack, keeping the loose papers to herself. “Do you want me to put those papers in your backpack?” I asked.

Maddie handed me one, and as she did I caught a glimpse of the other, retained paper – a math test with the score written in red. “You can have this one,” she said, handing me her vocabulary test. “But not this one,” and she waved the math test.

“Baby, is it because of the grade on the math test?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Honey, it’s ok, we all miss some sometimes.”

So Maddie handed me her math test and burst into tears.

She made an 89.

Dear Cora:

Every morning provided the weather holds, you scooter to school. About a block and a half into it, you arrive at your friend Lily’s house, and invariably you pause there, lingering in the hope that she’ll come walking out the door at that moment and you two can continue on to school together.

When I catch up with you, you’ll always say that your leg is “tired and needs to rest”. One day I teasingly pointed out that your leg always seems to get tired at the same spot on our journey; you shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “My leg always wants to rest with my friends.”

Well, I don’t know about your leg, kiddo, but I know for certain that your heart rests with your friends. You spent the past few years essentially “borrowing” friends from your older sister, but this year you’ve truly come into your own and have spent kindergarten developing your own sweet little gang. You are always begging me for a play date with Lily, or Maggie, or Logan or Rawan – always wanting to spend more time with your friends. And it’s not that you’re not comfortable in your own skin: you can easily entertain yourself in your room for hours at a time. No, you simply love your friends. You have an easy confidence with them that, frankly, I envy: I can’t imagine being that comfortable with myself and open with so many others at your age.

Monday afternoons always feel a little hectic for me; Mondays are my “errands” day, full of grocery stores and the cleaners and the drugstore and taking care of returns and all the other million things your children HATE to do with you. Then I come home for about ten minutes to eat and switch mental gears as I get ready for the second half of my day: pick the girls up from school, spend a few precious minutes with them, then rush off to teach for the rest of the day.

I try hard not to be flustered and tired when I see the girls, so I can be focused on them and enjoy them for however brief a time. This past Monday my teaching started a bit later than usual, so I was looking forward to having a good hour with the girls before heading out the door.

On Sunday morning, my plan was to sleep until I absolutely had to wake up, jump in the shower and get ready for church. I’d heard Brian get up a bit earlier and was snuggled down under the covers, half-asleep and enjoying the fact that it was almost 8 a.m. and I was still in bed.

At which point I felt a tap on my shoulder and opened one eye to see my husband looking at me sympathetically. “I’m so sorry to wake you before your alarm, but this is just too darn cute so you need to roll over to see it.”

I obligingly rolled over and opened the other eye, and there was my five-year-old with a huge grin on her face, holding a breakfast tray.

In an extravagant fit of sheer awesomeness, my mother just gave me a Vita-Mix blender as an early Mother’s Day gift. I’ve been eyeing one for a couple of years and we really thought this was the year, but a few household repairs came up and . . . you know how it goes.

But I suddenly find myself with this Lamborghini of blenders at my disposal, and there is no stopping me now.

My first day with Frieda (my highly efficient new friend, on constant call, ready to whip up any drink I might want with Teutonic efficiency) I used it Five. Times. Yes, five. For one round with the girls, I peeled four clementines and threw them in there –seeds and pith and all – with a peeled banana and some yogurt and some vanilla extract. Sheer heaven. Frieda (my new best friend) will take any fruit and pulverize it to a smooth, un-pulp-y liquid. I have high hopes that she will help me get more whole fruits and veggies down Cora’s throat – Cora is my Texture Nazi.

Last Friday I pulled the girls out of school early to go strawberry picking, an annual event we always look forward to. We’re lucky to have an organic strawberry farm just north of us here, and we pack a picnic and make a day of it. The strawberries are EXCELLENT and the prices below grocery store, so we always pick plenty to bring home and freeze for canning and smoothies.

This year we may have over-reached a bit.

Maddie and Cora were able to really participate this year and did a great job filling up a few buckets with very ripe strawberries, while my mom and I worked diligently to pick as much as we could. I kept remembering how we ran out of the thirty pounds we picked last May by mid-July, and I was determined to pick more this year. I sent the girls back to the farmer for extra buckets a few times, and we ended with quite a haul.

Sixty-eight pounds, to be exact.

Yesterday was Maddie’s turn at the talent show, and she seemed much more relaxed and ready for it than Cora had been the previous day; after all, Maddie is a two-year veteran by now, and was performing with her friend that she’s done the talent show with since kindergarten.

So I was not expecting it when I received a call from a friend of mine within the school, hissing, “I’m not sure what’s going to happen here! The girls are fighting. I repeat the girls are fighting.”

I still don’t know what went down, but I understand Maddie sat rigid with fury while her gal-pal and partner-in-talent dripped miserably over the lunch table. For quite a while. When it was pointed out that perhaps their feud was due at least partly to nerves, the messenger was promptly shot, uniting the two girls at least momentarily.