Sports camp sounded fabulous. “Children will play soccer, baseball and basketball,” the flyer said. I couldn’t resist. I enrolled my daughter in two week-long sessions. What a great way for her to pick a sport, I thought. Camp will expose her to different sports and she’ll see what she likes. Then we can sign her up for one in the fall. read more
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“Shut up! Mommy’s trying to sleep!”
“Ma-ma? A-be-a-be-a-beya!”
“Shut up! Daddy has to get dressed and Mommy’s sleeping in!”
Not anymore. My son continued to babble and my husband continued to bitch as I lay in bed listening to them.
I called my dad yesterday. We had the same conversation we always do when we talk about my job. Even so, I was lucky we talked about my job. Usually he just talks about himself until he’s done, when he says “I’ll be talking to you,” and hangs up.
This time he asked how my family was doing. He asked about the kids. I told him and then he asked, “How’s your writing? Did you write anything lately?” I write in various capacities every day, unless I post the blog on Saturday, then I get Sunday off.
We had an incident Friday. It got so bad that we had to leave the gym. It all started like this: my four-and-a-half-year-old daughter wanted to watch a movie when she got home from camp. She picked “Santa Paws,” which I couldn’t believe was still in play. Because she’ll read/watch/wear Christmas stuff at any time of year (just like her grandma), I’ve taken care to pack up ALL Christmas stuff together for storage in January. But she found the movie I left behind. I played it for her. After all, I told myself, I wouldn’t be watching it. I had to make coleslaw for a potluck.
