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Showing posts from August 12, 2012

Breathe In. Breathe Out.

My ten year old daughter (who I lovingly refer to on this blog as Dotter, which is actually Swedish for 'daughter' - clever, ain't I?) is somewhat, how shall I say, riddled with anxiety to the point she's probably going to have a nervous breakdown in less than a year, or a heart attack, but probably both.

Case in point: she just called me sobbing because she misses me. She's camping this weekend with her father. They haven't left yet.

What if there's a storm?
What if there's a tornado?
What if she misses me?
What if there's no phone service and she can't call me to tell me she misses me?

I told her to write down on a piece of paper what she would have said to me.

And then write down what she thinks I would have said back.

But what if there's no paper?
Or pens?
Or if there are pens what happens if they run out of ink?

Oy.

My head hurts just thinking about it.

So, here's where I confess that I hope there isn't any phone service. Not bec…

My how my standards have dropped.

As with any exhausted mother of an incredibly spirited toddler (read: holy f-ing god this child will not quit moving), I signed Cletus up for gymnastics class. Parents & Tots gymnastics class, if we're being specific.

Now, my number one rule of parenting is "don't sign the kid up for anything where I'm required to perform physically." Well, no, actually that's not true. My number one rule is "don't let the kid sleep with anything that might potentially strangle him in his sleep; especially a pull toy" (thanks to my mother who watched a movie where that happened and forever traumatized me with the details). My number two rule is "don't sign the kid up for anything where I'm required to perform physically."

Except this kid will. not. quit. moving.

The two sweet girls I birthed before him sat nicely. And played quietly. And never ventured to far (or too high) away from me.

The boy runs along the back of the couch, swings off…