The joys of having a preteen...

I can already hear many of you laughing at the title of this post. No sarcasm was intended. Oh sure there is the other side: the moodiness, the sullenness, the not wanting to share everything in his life with his mother who loves him oh so very muchness, but those are items for a different post.

This morning I woke a little late. (That may happen when one is awakened in the middle portion of the night and not able to fall asleep again until really it would be better to just get up.) I had a moment of panic: breakfast, lunches, homework check, ahhhh! But then I heard a rattling in the kitchen. Curious I went to investigate and found Constant making muffins, oatmeal, and eggs. He was showered and dressed. Most importantly, he had the water on for my coffee. AMAZING!!!! He ate, I ate (yummy muffins go very well with coffee), he got off to school, I read the paper. My faith in the future of the world has truly been restored. I love my preteen!

Imagination...

As far as imagination goes, 4 seems to be the age it all comes together. Old enough to track and remember storyline... young enough not to care that others may be puzzling about what you could possibly be up to. I am envious of Busy Bee's total immersion into the worlds he creates. We are all always cast in his play and though we play along, there is always one toe left in the dreaded "real world". I watch with joy as he changes to fit whatever fantasy is playing out in his world. I try to remember when the line between fantasy and reality became so straight for Constant. I think it was gradual, as the reality of school and friendships moved to the front and becoming a Jaguar leaping through the forest became a slightly embarrassing story his mom told at family gatherings.
Busy starts kindergarten in the fall. I plan on enjoying this summer's adventures to the fullest, hoping to add to the slightly embarrassing stories I tell. Remind me to tell you the one about the snail and his trail.

Yeah Spring!!!

We are very fortunate in our neck of the woods to be enjoying some lovely spring weather. But with nice weather comes certain responsibilities: namely, the garden. Last week Cityman announced Saturday we would have the family project of clearing out the weeds (where did they come from?) and turning the soil for the new seedlings (which he is so lovingly starting in pods in the kitchen). Right now my family consists of myself, Cityman - who has a BROKEN ankle, 12 year old Constant Comet - who would rather be riding his bike, playing lego, or pretty much doing anything other than helping his mom pull prehistorically gigantic weeds, and 4 year old Busy Bee - who loves to help mom with anything, but is well... 4.
Fast forward: the garden is weeded and turned, I am finally able to move again (when did I get old?), Cityman is planning where his adorable little seedlings will go, Constant managed to help move the crazy amount of weeds to the green waste in time for Friday's take away, and Busy organized snail races that ended with a somber funeral for the looser (who knew snails were so competitive).
Now it's time for the rest of the yard...

Thanks for the reminder smalltownmom!

The younger me...

When did I become the mom who bribes her 4 year old with Cheetos so he will ride in the cart at Trader Joe's? The younger me, the one who turns her nose up at my messy house and shrill tone, is appalled by entire experience. The younger me doesn't have children and a husband and a job and a million and a half things to get done by 3:00pm. The younger me glides around in her size 2 jeans and rolls her eyes at the image of me arguing with my 12 year old over the best way to reduce fractions. The younger me gazes in pity at my husband, who is very politely eating the dinner I slaved over, but forgot to add salt. The younger me knows I plan on wearing sweats to bed and she feels my husband deserves a little more than that, he did eat the unappetizing dinner after all. The younger me shakes her head at my life and can't believe I am not more organized, calmer, thinner, sexier, and many other things she was sure I would have a good handle on by now.
The younger me would never understand how much joy can come from hearing her 4 year old and 12 year old giggle together with delight in the fort which has taken over the living room. The younger me would totally miss the look of desire my husband gives me from his side of the fort. To tell the truth, the younger me is a bit of a bitch and really needs to stuff her skinny ass back in the recesses of my mind. The me right now can handle life just fine without her help.