My kids started back to school this week. Arbor is less than a month away from officially turning two. Our lawnmower is broken, leaving a complete five acres for solid jungle grass to grow eight feet tall, one of my ducks tried to mate with my foot, and I almost stepped on a live baby rat which my dog so graciously brought inside the house, and I quit country living, because it is just so nasty.
This year Mia is in seventh grade and the softball is nonstop. She is as tall as me, if not slightly taller, and I want to cry whenever I look at her face because it appears that somehow, someone yanked the sprinkly freckles and chocolate-chip brown eyes off my three year old and stuck them on a grown up girl. She talks about sports and friends and boys and apps and I just sit there half-listening and half-wondering how she can physically say that many words with her mouth per minute. I kind of miss how she used to yell at me because I wasn’t playing “Birds laying eggs” the right way. (You sit on a pile of balls and that’s it.)
Merrick has a mind that won’t quit and it is only slightly stressful, like when I walk into his room four minutes after school and he has completely rearranged the furniture and gutted his set of drawers so that he can prepare to build a cage for the canary I told him I might allow him to buy with his own money when he’s ten. (He’s 8.) He is constantly building something out of something (think Buddy the Elf building a rocking horse from a tv cabinet, and know that this is not necessarily a good thing), and his energy and determination both impress and exhaust me. Merrick has no chill.
Arbor is at a 1 or a 100 all day everyday–there is no in between. The cuddles are a huge bonus for me and she has finally gotten to the age of loving to read books in my lap. I call her “my strong-willed child” but no one believes me because she’s always so demure in public. Her hair is blond as blond can be, and curly; her eyes are blue showing the faintest hints of turning green so I’m keeping my fingers crossed cause I want at least one of my babies to have my eyes. She likes pigs, dinosaurs, tutus, and baby dolls. Her hobbies include drinking from the dogs’ water bowl, opening and slamming doors, and screaming for fun.
Caleb started a new job this week, one that will keep him mostly local, which I’m excited about. His neck bothers him on most days but he handles it like a champ. I spend my time being an Arbor-handler and training for a half-marathon that I don’t want to talk about right now.
Minus the live rodent babies on my bedroom floor.