1m2aSandbox

Maddie’s a Daisy this year –
the level below Brownies in the Girl Scout hierarchy – and
we’ve been introduced to Girl Scout cookies from the selling
side of the desk for the first time. I have dim memories of my own
years selling Girl Scout cookies, which consisted primarily of
handing my order form to my daddy and having him take it to work
and come back with a couple hundred orders. Good times.


I, apparently, am not as nice as my old man, so Maddie’s
cookie sales were considerably less grandiose in scale. As in, she
sold to her relatives, a few church friends, and the people on our
block. Maddie has been surprisingly un-driven about wanting to get
out there and sell! Sell! Sell! She was content to put on her
uniform, hit our cul-de-sac, make a few phone calls, and call it a
day.


This has been incredibly fine with me.

A few months ago, I was chatting with the
mom of one of the girls in Maddie’s ballet class about how
busy our lives had become recently; Maddie had ballet class once a
week and then rehearsal every Saturday for the Nutcracker, and I
was resenting having to be at the studio twice a week.


“I know what you mean,” the other mom lamented.
“My girls’ schedule feels so busy we don’t have
time to turn around! She’s got ballet on Thursdays with
rehearsals Saturday afternoon, gymnastics on Wednesdays, soccer on
Tuesdays and Saturday mornings, and of course karate on Mondays.
Plus her piano lessons at home Friday afternoons!”


Her daughter was six.


And suddenly my twice-a-week commitment didn’t look so
bad.

Brian’s work recently gave out
tickets to a local hockey game and he snagged enough for the whole
family to go, plus the girls’ gal pal Elise. It was a rare
matinee game (I know that’s not what you call it, but you get
what I mean) so I said yes, with hesitations.


Maddie is, shall we say, an introvert who doesn’t know
she’s an introvert. So she loves to hang out with friends and
do stuff in a crowd – in theory. But surrounded by a ton of
sound and stimulation she’ll often hit a wall and a meltdown
is usually inevitable – after we leave and are heading home.
I wasn’t sure if we’d even be able to stay for the
whole game. But free is free and we gave it a try.


I should not have worried. The girls had a fantastic time, and for
two main reasons:

Yesterday I felt a tap upon my shoulder
and turned around to see my daughter Cora standing there, hands
clasped solemnly together.


“What’s up, Li’l Bit?” I asked her.


Cora looked at my gravely. “Mommy, my groove thing is
itchy.”


I’m sorry, what?


I stared at her a moment, then said, “And what exactly is
your groove thing?” Because I? Really wanted to hear the
answer to that question; to my knowledge, we hadn’t been
walking around with episodes of Disco Fever playing in the
background.


Cora huffed impatiently, then leaned in and whispered,
“Mommy, your groove thing is your hiney. I was just trying to
use a more polite term for it.”


And apparently “groove thing” is more acceptable in
mixed company than “hiney”. Who knew?

I try – most of the time – to
feed my family relatively healthy meals. At the same time, I teach
two nights a week – meaning I have to have the food ready or
almost-ready when I leave the house at 3:30. Add in after-school
activities like ballet class that runs right up to dinner time, and
a hot, nutritious, home-cooked meal gets a little more complicated.


I know how easy it can be to drive through somewhere – grab
some fast food to go. And there are days when everything’s
exploded all around you and good enough – in the shape of a
big mac and a happy meal – is good enough. I do not judge
those instances, because I have them myself. But I try to keep
those for truly Code Red days and with a little planning –
and a new definition of the phrase “fast food” –
I by and large succeed.


Wanna know how?

Yesterday was a school holiday and with
both girls at home, I needed a game plan. Looking for something
that would get us moving and be cheap, I told the girls we were
heading to the park for the morning.


Sure, it was a bit windy and overcast part of the time. But once
there we quickly got in the swing of things and had a fantastic
time for almost two hours. The first part of our time there was
spent on the playground equipment, but the lion’s share of
our outdoor time was taken up with my girls’ favorite
activity – Doing Stuff With Nature.

For my birthday last fall, my friends put
href="http://www.1mother2another.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1541&Itemid=46"
target="_blank">a life-size plexi-glass cow in my front
yard. Since then, it’s made the rounds to a couple other
houses for birthdays, and now it’s such a tradition that we
couldn’t stop that rolling stone if we tried. So Friday night
we all made plans to “cow” another friend’s house
–w e had the “costume” all ready, the birthday
sign, and a bag full of emergency supplies like tape and a
flashlight. We were organized, we had a plan – easy in, easy
out, right?


I am solemnly swearing to you that everything you are about to read
is true. As I often say in this blog, I couldn’t make this
stuff up if I tried.


My friend’s house was only a block away so at 9 p.m., our
designated meet time, I swung my backpack on my shoulder and headed
out through my back alley. As I walked along the sidewalk I saw the
psychedelic cow pass me by in a pick-up truck, tailgate down to
accommodate her udders. I gave a friendly wave and checked off our
first to-do: get the cow to the scene. I crossed over my
friend’s lawn just after the cow had been dropped off by a
weary husband , and I greeted two sisters-in-crime who’d
already arrived and patted Heidi (the cow’s) flank fondly,
thinking of the fun we were going to have.


Then the police showed up.