This morning we had eggs. Scrambled with cheddar, milk, and butter. In the bath the boys asked me uncomfortable questions. “Do girls have pee-pees?” “Why not?” “Do they grow them?” “Do mans have pee-pees?” “Do girls go potty out the holes in their bottoms?” This was all honest curiosity; they weren’t being gross. They just want to know.
It took us way too long to finally make it out of the house to get to the boys’ first art class at the community center. They wanted to wear their rock star shoes. Could they take their stuffed animal friends?
|Artists, ready to go to art class.|
This is the only class other than a few Sunday School classes they’ve been to, and they were nervous but excited. I thought it was a class that moms stayed in, but the other moms left. I stayed, trying not to breathe over the shoulder of the teacher. Near the end I went in the hall and talked to another mom and they were fine.
The boys were polite to the teacher. They told her their names and shook her hand. They’re the only boys in a class of five kids. Clark told the teacher that his nickname was Shark because the book she read had a shark in it. Cal then told her that his nickname was Squishy but that only Dad could call him that, not her. Their book was about patterned fish and they used rock salt to create patterns on their watercolor masterpieces. Then they made patterns in play-doh.
We had a snack, looked at the fountains and garden pinwheels, played on some of the weird, Reston-y sculptures, and headed home. Cal decided he needed to carry wood home. Yesterday the branches he collected on our walk were wings that he flapped for the last ten minutes before home, as he tweeted and talked in his loud baby bird voice. Today the branches were for firewood for Uncle Pierre’s fire. (“Oh, actually for our fireplace.”)
He dragged those branches for probably half a mile. Meanwhile Clark threw a fit. He whined when I made them get out and walk. Seriously, I’m not going to push them in the stroller the whole time. They’re heavy, but also they’re out to get exercise too. So he was slow because he was crying and threatening to sit down and not walk home. (Fine, see you later.) And Cal was slow because he was being a hunter-gatherer of firewood.We got home and I put Clark down for a nap. He fell asleep and slept for two hours. Cal dumped the water he was playing with (Do acorns sink or float, Mom?) down between the boards in our balcony onto our neighbor’s balcony. Great. Then he fell asleep on Brian’s lap while I went running. Running kind of sucked. It was a beautiful day, but I just didn’t quite feel right. Also, on an unrelated note, the 7/11 by our house doesn’t have a public restroom.
At dinner there were several meltdowns over the texture of the corn and the sauce for the chicken. Clearly marinara sauce with parmesan chicken is not as good as ranch dressing.Then Brian left for flag football and the boys turned the living room into a baseball field with all the couch pillows, and then into a mountain with all the pillows, and then a pool. Somewhere in there I uncorked the wine bottle. Turned on the Nationals’ game. Cal claimed he was scared by his poop and burst into tears in the bathroom. Then they both spent time figuring out how a suction cup works. Somehow I herded them both into bed and am now sitting here, still watching the Nats, whom I love so much, drinking wine, which I also like, and thinking of what a normal day this is, how tiring this all is, but also how much I want to slow down and enjoy these days.
That's about it. Just a Tuesday.
|Boys and animal friends, ready for art|