The Perfect Writing Lesson

OK, so see? Right here! This is perfect. Let's talk about what writing can really do. Now, you could say the following:

I slipped and hit my face on the couch and my tooth fell out. I bled a lot. It was gross.

There's nothing really wrong with that. It communicates information. It gets the idea across. But oh, the picture you could paint instead:

I was minding my own business, not bothering anyone, just going about my day. Little did I know what awaited me in my own living room. Two steps into the room and my foot met up with a sheet of paper carelessly (and typically) left there by my good-for-nothing brother, who never thinks of anyone but himself. My legs shot out from under me and WHAM! I slammed face first into the back of the couch. My first thought was, "That's funny, I didn't think I was eating anything just now" and my second thought was "Holy Moly, that's not food roiling around in my mouth, that's my TOOTH!" My third thought was "Wow, I didn't know a mouth could generate that much blood." And that third thought stayed with me for a good long time, as did the spurting blood soaking through tissues my semi-panicky mother kept shoving in my mouth. I did, in fact, knock one of my baby teeth clean out of my mouth, but the real blood was coming from my gums, where two other adult teeth have been making their glacial-like way into their front and center position. Adult teeth. You know, the ones I'm really going to USE, if I want to keep eating all that meat I enjoy so much? Yay, those adult teeth. That are now gushing blood down the front of my face and freaking out my younger siblings. That little one keeps trying to hug me. She's so annoying. You'd think my blood-curdling screams would keep her away, but she seems strangely fascinated in a can't-look-away-from-the-car-crash kind of way. Anyway, what I'd really like to do right now is relax and enjoy my first full day of being a homeschooled homegirl, but instead it looks like I'll be taking a little trip to the ER to see what they know about bloody gums. Let's hope the rest of this year turns out to be a little less exciting.

And that, dear daughter, is a lesson in writing, brought to you by life. Welcome to homeschooling. Now please stop marking big occasions with a trip to the hospital. You are starting to get predictable. * * * Good first day, until the bloody part. Will write about it later. Maybe by the time I get them all into Ivy League colleges. Because that's why I'm doing this, right? * * *

Eight Year Old Wishes and Dreams

My eight year old daughter and I were enjoying a rare moment with just the two of us, being lazy and lying on my bed in the middle of the afternoon. She, with dreamy look in her eye, said: "Mom, wouldn't it be fun if you and me, just the two of us, were drifting in the ocean on a great big comfortable bed?"

I agreed with her that that sounded delightful. We had fun imagining the sun warming our faces, a sweet breeze moving us gently along. Then, she added the perfect final touch, eyes glowing:

"Wouldn't it be great if the bed had a mini fridge? And it was filled with meat?"

She meant the grass-fed, humanely raised, beyond organic kind, of course.

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7 Quick Takes Friday: Volume 11, the Homeschool Edition

It's FRYYYYYYYYYYY-Day! Welcome to my seven quick takes for today. Please visit Jen at Conversion Diary, the lovely hostess of the original 7QT.

1. My facebook mom friends have been abuzz about their Back to School nights this week. We will miss that time-honored tradition this year, so I've decided to have one just for Rick and me tonight. It will include paella and adult beverages. That beats bad decaf coffee and stale cookies, dudn't it?

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2. Speaking of facebook, I had a moment of pure panic the other day, when I read my friend Karen's status update in which she gleefully shared that after 12 years of having kids at home she finally has all four of her boys in all day public school. Pure. Unadulterated. Panic. What have I done? See why I need adult beverages at my Back to School night?

* * *

3. We are going to the Academy of Sciences -- the only place on the planet with an aquarium, a planetarium, a natural history museum, and a 4-story rainforest all under one living roof -- on our third day of school! How cool is that? I will report on that trip, to be certain. We'll be there with other homeschooling families from all over the Bay Area. I will be on the look out for all those ill-socialized children out there, and will report them forthwith.

Folks, this place is pricey. $25 to get in the door, usually. They are hosting a homeschool day, which brings that hefty price down to $5 each. Otherwise? We'd be studying the rainforest in the boys' bedroom that day. But if you get a chance to go, or can save your pennies for a special occasion, do it. A. May. Zing.

* * *

4. Life is giving us all kinds of chances to create learning opportunities. Take for example the recent heat wave we had (and which is now a distant memory, seen through the haze and chill of gray, thick fog). As soon as the heat hit on Monday, the ants headed indoors. All week, I've been doing battle against those little menaces.

So now, I am going to send the kids on a little investigative journey. Follow every single ant trail back to its source. Remove the offending attraction: the girls have already reported finding the stub of a carrot behind Little T's bed covered in ants. Block up holes with cinnamon. Do a little google research on why ants refuse to cross a cinnamon barrier. And then, for the big fun: figure out the most effective way to kill them. Is it Simple Green? Bleach? The organic earth-friendly ant spray Nicole gave us? Stomping? High-powered water gun laced with battery acid? Compare and contrast the most effective method with the most fun.

Throw in a little math: count how many ants you see in a one inch line. Measure the long line of ants between the dining room window and the kitchen sink. Multiple the number of inches by the number of ants to estimate how many of the bastards you have to kill.

Language Arts? Write a poem using this prompt as your first line: "How can I kill thee? Let me count the ways." Or maybe haiku is more your game. Here's a sample:

Small, many, marching.
Prepare for your anty-God.
Can we hear you scream?

* * *

5. A picture of my classroom. Yay!



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6. And now, for the gratitude portion of our day. I'd like to extend a very large THANK YOU to all of the people who have expressed their support for our new homeschooling endeavor. I know there are a few (hundred) people out there who think we are completely bonkers, and I'd like to thank them too, for not sharing that opinion with us. But to all those of you who have encouraged, congratulated, and high-fived us, thank you from the bottom of my family's collective heart. We take your good wishes with us as we begin the year.

* * *

7. From St. Theresa of Avila, a good prayer for a homeschooling mom. Or for a mom whose kids go to school. Or for a person who is not a mom. For a truck driver. A bank executive. A pilates instructor. A construction worker. An elected official. A teacher. A computer engineer. A fast food line worker. A human being.

"Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you. All things are passing. God never changes. Patience obtains all things. Nothing is wanting to the one who possesses God. God alone suffices.

Found in America Magazine.

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Me Me Me Me Me Me Me

I have been tagged by Teacher Mommy to participate in a meme. Can someone tell me what "meme" means? Where it comes from? I've never googled it. If you have, please share!

So, I answer 10 questions and then I tag 6 people to answer the same 10 questions.

1. If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing it that way; if you are not anonymous do you wish you had started out anonymously so you could be anonymous now?

I do not blog anonymously. Sometimes, I wish I did, because it seems like it might be easier to express myself without upsetting people. But then, writing is not for the feint of heart. If I'm not comfortable writing about it, then I'm either not ready to or I'm being a wuss and should get over myself. Usually, I think I need to work harder to write in way that is true to what I am thinking but respectful to those who might be upset or disagree. Whether or not someone might get upset or might disagree with me should not be a reason to write or not to write. Sadly, for me, it sometimes is. So I'm not anonymous, I sometimes wish I were, but in the end I think it's better this way.

I'm not very good at the courageous writing stuff, but I aspire to be. Baby steps, Bob.

2. Describe one incident that shows your inner stubborn side.

Wow, can it be that I'm not actually stubborn? Because I can't think of anything. Unless you count my ability to ignore my daughters' repeated pleas to "check on" them at night after I've put them to bed. I can listen to wailing and gnashing of teeth without stirring from my comfy chair for a good long time.

Is that stubborn? Or just too exhausted to move? They look an awful lot alike at 9:30 at night.

3. What do you see when you really look at yourself in the face in the mirror?

The best mirror in my house is my 8 year old daughter, whom everyone says is the spittin' image of me. So, when I look at my face reflected in hers, I see beauty, joy, and love. And a heaping helping of silliness. Lucky me!

I try to avoid all other mirrors.

4. What is your favorite summer cold drink?

Homemade sun tea. My kids made some two days ago, on the first decently hot day of the entire summer, and it tasted just like my own childhood. I found myself impatient for it to be ready, and also slightly uncomfortable with the way my kids kept saying "Is the tea ready yet?" They don't have to wait for much in their lives: everything is instantaneous. Sun tea is a delicious antidote.

5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do?

When I finally figure out how to do this, I'll let you know. I suspect I might spend 70% of the time weeping.

6. Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life? What is it?

Seriously? Still something I want to accomplish? Well, that particular list is long and ever-growing. I'll give you a handful. I would like to get more involved, in some meaningful way, with the Slow Food Movement. I would also like to figure out how to get my laundry put away when it's folded. I would like to write more.

Mostly, someday I would like to sit with my husband someplace beautiful, with a glass of red wine, assured in the knowledge that our five children are happy, peaceful, joyful adults. And to enjoy that glass of wine without talking about a single one of them.

7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the class shy person, or always ditching school?

I was a weird amalgam of smart student, borderline nerd, drama geek, social butterfly, and clueless happy person. But I was blessed with amazing friends, the kind that stay with you for your entire life, and they got me through the good, the bad, the awkward and the socially deadly.

8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment in your life, what do you see?

I see an orange and white VW van pulling away from a curb, with my family inside of it and a very tall dormitory building rising up behind me. Having just been deposited at UC Santa Barbara for my freshman year of college and watching the family van trundle away, I was suspended smack dab between childhood and adulthood, and I knew it. I remember walking back into my dorm, excited, nervous, young, naive, confident and terrified at the same time. It was awesome.

I then proceeded to have the hands down worst year of my entire life, which I can now say, from the comfortable distance of 20+ years in the future, means that I am one incredibly lucky person.

9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events?

I do not find it easy at all to share my true self on my blog, and I often root around in my brain for topics that have to do with other things going on in the world. I am rarely successful because I usually end up thinking that I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. Sometimes, when I read my own blog, I am a little sickened by the endless focus on me and my family. Like memes for example. Does anyone really care what my favorite summer drink is? I don't even care what my favorite summer drink is.

But at this point in my life, my family is what takes up all my time and all the space in my brain...so my family is what I'm mainly writing about for now.

10. If you had the choice to sit and read or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

I loathe talking on the phone and am not good at it. For starters, there's the fact that a mother on a phone sends an undeniable signal to her children that they can behave horribly. Second, being on the phone always makes me think of all the stuff I'm trying to get done and can't until I am done talking. Third, I never know how to end a conversation, and am usually trying to. I can't count the number of times I hung up the phone and thought "Well, THAT was awkward." Why would I enjoy an activity that highlights my social ineptitude?

So I'll take a book any day of the week.

* * *

And now for the tagging part, the part of a meme that usually keeps me from participating. Feels like a chain letter, and I don't do those either. But I do enjoy reading memes (memi?) when other people do them, and I did participate in this one, so I need to somehow comply with this part, right?

If you have a blog, consider yourself tagged and do this meme. *times 6*

I can't bring myself to tag anyone individually. Please don't revoke my blogging license.

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If You Give a Kid a Cookie

If you give a kid a cookie, she's probably going to ask you for another one.

You'll think she's cute, so you won't see the harm in giving it to her and you'll say yes. When you give her the second cookie, she'll start to get that crazed look in her eye.

When you see that crazed look, you'll decide it's time to divert her attention, so you'll ask her if she wants to ride her bicycle in the back yard.

When she says yes, her older sister will want to come too, but first they'll both need to change their entire outfits, probably into something that includes a boa, and they both will need shoes.

You won't be able to find their godforsaken flip flops, so you'll have to take the time for socks and shoes that tie. Your own lunch will grow cold while all of this shoe business is happening.

When their shoes are finally on, they will change their minds and want to take a bath instead. They will want to wear their bathing suits in the bathtub.

When you squash this request like a rolled up New Yorker on a fat mosquito, they will both start wailing. You will respond by forcing them to go outside and play.

While they are outside playing, they will decide to climb the Magnolia tree. They will fight over who gets to go up first. You will spend a few minutes pondering just how much your neighbors curse you every time they hear screams wafting from your backyard.

Your older kids will hear the commotion and run outside to take over the tree-climbing. They will knock over smaller children on their way up. More screaming will ensue.

You will hide inside for awhile, until you are sure your neighbors are about to call CPS. Just in time to stop the neighbors mid-dial, you will storm outside with a couple of cans of whoop ass and look around for a few likely recipients, who will have scattered and are now hiding. At least they are quiet.

You will go back inside and discover that in the very short time you have abandoned your Kitchen Command Post, the kids have helped themselves to the cereal, with most of it landing on the floor. You will crunch your way over to the broom, cursing short people all the way.

You will ask a kid to sweep up the floor, and he will respond as if you have asked him to chop off, deep fry, and eat one of his fingers. You will not take kindly to this, and will give him a piece of your mind.

When the kitchen floor is clean, you will serve lunch. The youngest will be full of cookies and will leave her plate entirely untouched. The older kids will each object to a different item on the menu. You will deliver the When I Was a Kid We Ate What We Were Given speech, prompting you to marvel that they can all roll their eyes at the same exact time and with the same degree of disgust. You will spend their lunchtime trying to get them to stay in their seats, eat their food, and not fight. You will fail.

You will wonder if lunch is a contact sport in other people's houses too. You will become momentarily overwhelmed by just how ineffectual your parenting is. You will step into the hallway and bang your head repeatedly against the wall, until five little voices announce that someone is at the door. They will stampede to the front door, fling it open so that it crashes into the book case, and pour out of the house, like clowns out of a VW bug, looking for the non-existent visitor. It will take you a long time to corral them back into the house and back to their lunch plates.

When they are finally finished eating, they will disperse to create five different disaster zones in various parts of the house. They will be intensely focused on the task at hand for 7 minutes, long enough for you to go to the bathroom and take one bite of your long-cold lunch.

All five of your swarming children will now decide that they deserve to watch a movie. You will say yes, sweet Jesus, yes, but you will have them clean up the day's activities first.

You will expect them to object and you will not be disappointed. It will not matter that the house rule is to tidy up bedrooms and common areas before turning on the television -- they will stall and complain and bitch and moan and resist and will not comply until faced with the usual ultimatum: if things aren't cleaned up in ten minutes, there will be no movie at all.

At some point in the next ten minutes, the youngest will mess her pants, the oldest will tease and torment the fourth born, reducing her to tears and causing you to wonder if he (the oldest) will someday land in jail, and the other two will pick this moment to color-categorize the entire lego set in one small corner of the house. A nice impulse, but a time-consuming one that doesn't actually fall into the Clean Up Your Room and the Common Areas in Ten Minutes column. They will not understand when you thank them politely through clenched teeth and re-direct them to the 8,632 crayons on the dining room floor.

When the rooms are finally...well...clean is maybe a stretch, but at least less hazardous than before, they will fight over which movie to watch, until they notice steam coming out of your ears and wisely decide to shut their pie holes and settle on a movie. There will be a few more scuffles over who gets to sit where, and finally, an exhausted air of inactivity will settle over the living room.

After about 13 minutes, a kid will come in and ask for a cookie.

And if you give a kid a cookie, you better be sure there is plenty of red wine in the house.

* * *

Thank you, Laura Numeroff, for the wonderful series that inspired this post. Your books are treasures in this house.



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You Won't Convince Me Otherwise

I have a kid who is not a hugger. He regularly eschews anything touchy-feely. He says "OK" when I tell him I love him, which is often. His father, one very affectionate and demonstrative dude, tells him: "We're Alatorres. We hug. Get over here." This kid resists.

But guess what? Lately, he has been letting me hug him. I've actually gotten to tickle him this summer. He's more and more playful. Just now, I sent him off to bed with an I Love You, and I got one back in return. I almost fell over, and not because I've had a few glasses of red wine.

I attribute this new found state of relaxation to the fact that he is not returning to school this year. This is the kid who, upon learning that we would be home schooling him and his siblings for 2010-11, sullenly responded "Why didn't you do this a year ago?" That was back before he was letting me hug him. Now, in his new, more-huggable state, he seems like a kid more comfortable in his own skin, happy, funny, playful. He seems like the kid he was back before he started going to school.

I could weep from joy. This is why we are home schooling.

Tonight, he asked me if we could have a morning this winter, while we are homeschooling, where they get up and I make them hot chocolate and they can bring their blankets down to the living room and sit in front of the fire and drink hot chocolate and then later we can go to the library. He wants to check out comic books. Whatever, I totally said YES.

Bring on my new life. I can't wait to see how it unfolds.


* * *

Saved By Fingerpaint

The sun was shining.


You were both under my feet, in my hair, on my arms and driving me mad.


Thank God for fingers and for paint and for the combination of the two.


Thank God for sunny days, when fingers and paint can come together out of doors and make a mess far from my dining room floor.


Thank God for bright colors, the yellow sun, the blue flowers and the orange hat.


All converged to ensure that I survived another day without losing my precious mind. I have lived to scream another day. But not today, because today the sun was shining, and there were fingers and paint in lovely motion.

* * *

Why We Are Homeschooling Our Kids

It came down to this: one afternoon in early Spring, after picking up the kids from school and having yet another miserable ride home, it struck me as virtually inevitable and unavoidable that we would have to take them out of this school and begin teaching them ourselves. Thus began my reluctant path to homeschooling.

We made this decision going on five months ago and in that time, I’ve talked to many people about why we are doing this. The first thing I tell people, always, is that we’ve thought about it for years, since before our oldest child started Kindergarten. The next thing I tell people is that our boys were not fitting into the box of a classroom…that the cost of our private school was getting prohibitive for us…that our public school is not an option…that it’s not possible or practical to hope they could all get transferred to the same better public school…that we love our school community, but just couldn’t stay. I had the whole speech down.

The other day, I unexpectedly deviated from the script, and out came the simplest, barest truth about why we are going to homeschool our kids. A friend asked me why, and here’s what I said, much to my surprise:

“I’m done trying to make something work that isn’t, and done pretending it’s OK that it isn’t working.”

That’s the real reason we are doing this. What is the “something” that is not working? Two main things:

(1) Our kids are not growing in curiosity or confidence. Their reaction to school and education has been increasingly negative with each passing year. We want them to know what their brains are capable of and be excited by new possibilities. None of that has happened for our kids as they get older; in fact, we have been alarmed and distressed to watch the exact opposite unfold in front us.

(2) There is a reason lots of big families homeschool: It’s hard to keep up when you’ve got a lot of players. Keeping up with the demands of a school and school community – and I’m not talking about actual school work – became more and more burdensome and more and more intrusive on our family time. The class parties, the magazine sales, the pizza nights, the potlucks, the cookie dough sales, the volunteer hours, the special requests from teachers, and the list goes on, all combined to create a treadmill that was going to be my undoing.

There are many other reasons as well.

(1) Finances. That part was hard.

(2) No viable public school option. Literally. None.

(3) Then there’s something about the social scene at school, among the kids, that I don’t know how to put into words without sounding like a conservative whacko. Which I’m not. But I do have some boundaries. Which I think is a good thing. I guess one way to describe it is to say that at least 2 or 3 times a week, I was driving home with a kid in tears because of something that happened with a classmate. It became the norm to find myself irritated, annoyed, or even angry about some behavior from another kid. There are only so many times you can encourage your kids to face a bully, handle an idiot, stand up for themselves, be kind but don’t be a pushover, ignore mean people – and we tried it all -- before you finally say to yourself: “Why should they have to put up with this crap?” And at least 2 or 3 times a week, I had to talk with my kids about why they can’t play Halo, can’t have cell phones yet, can’t watch the Rated R movie du jour, can’t have unlimited video game and TV time, can’t eat at fast food restaurants, and why our family is so lame. I found myself spending too much time fighting culture wars and not enough time enjoying my family.

(4) I’m sure we can do a great job. I know it will not be easy, but then, having them in a school has not been easy. Sure they were “out of my hair” for 7 hours a day, but the hours of 3:00 to bedtime were often so extremely difficult, burdened with questionable homework assignments, processing whatever crap happened that day at school, handling reactionary behavior, and preparing for tomorrow, that the majority of the time we spent together as a family was a struggle.

I know this is a radical step, a completely counter-cultural decision. But heck – we already have 2.5 times as many children as most folks, so clearly, going against the grain is a familiar path for us.

Here are my hopes:

(1) That my family can slow down, even if only a little bit, and that we will have a little more control over how we spend our time.

(2) That my children will recapture (or hold on to, for the younger ones) the love and joy of learning, and that they will discover what they are capable of; that they will gain and strengthen confidence in themselves.

(3) That they will read and write every day, and that doing so will lead them to topics and interests we can help them pursue in depth.

I know this is not for everyone. But I am happy for us and hopeful for the future. And so, so thrilled that I am not prowling the aisles of Target with four different school supply lists.

Oh, and our youngest? Off to preschool for her! Let those teachers handle her defiant little self three days a week, thank you very much. Here’s hoping she meets a kid who's meaner than she is.

* * *

The Week That Guilt Ate

Ever get close to the end of summer and realize you haven't done all those great things with the kids you thought you were going to do? Or are you one of those people who annoys me who does everything she says she is going to do?

I'm the former.

So we're packing it in this week. Monday we took a cruise around the San Francisco Bay, and got to see sea lions and dolphins. Tuesday we played at a lake all day, complete with pedal boats and frog catching (and releasing). Today, we're hitting a swimming pool with some friends. I am comatose, but my kids are happy, and doesn't that make me a good mother?

Goodness, there's quite a bit wrong with that last sentence.

Anyway, I've been away from the blog because I've been busy assuaging my summer guilt. I have also been crafting a post that addresses our decision to begin homeschooling our children. It's time to stop revising that one, so I hope it will be up tomorrow. For now, I will say that I am very excited about beginning this new part of our lives. I've been talking to all kinds of people about how they homeschool and why it was the right choice for their family. No two answers are the same, but I am beginning to see an amazing array of possibilities and benefits. And the interesting thing is that as summer winds down, I do not find myself going crazy having the kids around, the way I always have in the past as the first day of school approaches. I have officially switched into a different life, one that will include a whole lot more time with my kids.

Guess it's time to figure out how to be a mom, then.

Space

I awoke this morning determined to make space.

Our home has evolved in a rather haphazard fashion, so that book shelves and hutches and suches occupy spots that can only be called random. Our living room, a very big, light-filled, potentially lovely room, looks more like a parking lot for used furniture than anything else. Our dining room is less a dining room and more a Kids Do Art And Make A Mess Every Single Damn Day room. Our kitchen is where the mail goes to die, and so, apparently, does a hell of a lot of other stuff.

And we're about to spend more time than ever in this space, what with our new homeschooling adventure beginning soon.

So today was my day to transform all of our downstairs common areas into inspired spaces where children will grow ever more brilliant. And spaces where, after a hard day of molding young minds, I can enjoy a cold beer without worrying that my beverage will be knocked over by piles of mail and magazines.

The first 30 minutes were spent walking from room to room with my coffee cup in hand, eyeballing the furniture and mulling over the possibilities. The next 5 were spent giving myself a little reality check. One cannot organize clutter. Here's a glimpse into what I and my coffee cup faced:





Fast forward to the end of the day, and here's what I have accomplished:

First, at about minute 42 of my endeavor, I put in a call to my good friend D'Bee, who has an eye for arranging things. I asked her to come help me figure out where to put stuff, and she'll be coming in the next few days.

Second, I attacked one room. Not quite the three I intended, but look what a difference an entire day of sorting, tossing, feeding children, managing time-outs, clearing, mopping up spills, organizing, and mopping up tears can do:



Before I had kids, an entire day's worth of effort would have resulted in astronomically more productivity. I am wistful for those days, even as I am surrounded by the beauty and love of children.

That other Haz Mat zone up there? Looks remarkably untouched as I type.

And finally, third, I had a nice cold beer (one home-brewed by Nicole's talented spouse - YUM!) at my nice clean table, and no paper piles got in the way.

Space. Victory. Miles to go before I can mold young minds in a chaos-free environment, but miles traveled in that direction too.

* * *

Lest you think I am more super than I truly am, 3 of my 5 were "farmed out" today, thanks to their friends' generous parents. That freed me up enormously. I ♥ the awesome parents of my children's friends.

* * *

How was your Saturday?

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Do You Hear What I Hear?

It's early in the morning, in a mostly sleeping house. My three year old is dozing on the couch next to me, while I watch the one and only Oprah episode I have ever recorded, the one featuring Michael Pollan and the documentary Food, Inc. If I don't watch it now, at 6:30am, I won't have another chance to watch it all day. My daughter stirs, wakes, looks up at me and says: "I can hear a song playing in my ears!"

At this moment, during a commercial, the TV is on mute. No, I don't know why I don't just fast forward through the commercial, perhaps because it's very early in the morning and my brain hasn't soaked up enough coffee yet. The point is, there is no music playing. She's got a song stuck in her head.

She sits there enjoying the music only she can hear. "Do you want to hear the song in my ears, mommy?"

Of course I do, dear!

She scoots up to me. I think she means to sing to me, so I try to get my ear as close to her little lips as possible. Her head doesn't seem to be in the right position -- she keeps moving back. I attempt to bring my ear and her mouth together a few more times, until she finally grabs my head, holds it steady, and puts our ears right next to each other. We sit for a few moments, ear to ear. "Can you hear it, mommy? Isn't it great?"

Completely great, Little T.

* * *