I was going to write a poignant, life-altering post tonight.
I recently took it upon myself to order up Netflix on the Wii at the urging of a few pals who said it was the greatest thing going so I decided to give it a whirl.
The other night as I was, you guessed it, folding yet another basket of clean clothes in what I like to call the “treadmill” of laundry that never stops, I thought it was high-time I check out this “Glee” show everyone has been raving about. For the last two years.
A little slow on the draw, yes.
So I’m going to leave you with this conversation so I can go fold another basket and tune into Episode 8 of Season One….
The best part of being the mother of three young children is stuff they say that melts my heart or forces me to turn my head. Here’s one that happened yesterday:
Background: Yesterday morning, everyone was bickering and tattling on everyone else. No one could do any right and everyone could only do wrong. There was absolutely no grace present and the words being used were “tear-down” words instead of “build-up” words. Spencer had been left-out for the umpteenth time and he was tired of it, too.
We had a little discussion on the way to Spencey’s toddler class about how we need to extend more grace and use words that build-up rather than tear-down and we also had a little chat about how Spencer must feel when he is left-out almost always.
A deal was made to focus on grace, using “build-up” words, and including everyone.
So while playing on the school playground after pick-up yesterday, Samuel found himself thrilled to be a part of the Kindergarten posse, namely Sarah’s best friend who is a well-known fixture in our home.
They were playing with sticks and Sarah’s BFF was scratched by Samuel on her hand.
She walked over to show me her injury and report the culprit.
After working through this mini-drama, we banned the usage of all sticks and everyone moved on.
While laying in bed last night, I asked Sarah if she gave anyone grace during the day.
“I gave Samuel grace because he scratched Hannah,” she answered.
“I don’t think he scratched her on purpose, honey. You were all playing with the sticks and his just scratched her hand accidentally,” I replied.
Indignant, she proclaimed,”No, mommy. He scratched her with his fingernail and it hurt her because his fingernails are so big and long and pointy because he drinks all of that milk all the time.”
And it’s true that the child downs milk at a rate that forces me to think I’ll need to get a part-time job in about nine years when he becomes a teenager.
But admittedly, I hadn’t given it much thought to milk’s power to grow big, strong, pointy fingernails.
Now I know.