I will write about the kids first, and really, they are a big reason why I've lacked blogging inspiration. It's not that they don't give me plenty of fodder, they're just a bit more crabby about me sharing said fodder with the fourteen people who read this blog and all of Facebook.
At the moment I hit publish the four children I spawned will now be, in years, 14, 12, 9 and 8. I swear, one day I was scraping baby poop out of diapers I blinked and my youngest was 8. It seems like just last week I was crying because Kristyn was off to nursery school. Now, we're looking at cars and considering the fact that in a matter of months, one of our children will be driving what we choose.
In September, we made the collective decision to hold off on having Kristyn in after-school activities. We wanted to see how she would adapt to the challenges of high school before we once again enrolled her in drama or indoor sports. Big mistake. Ms Smarty Pants completely rocks at high school and her ninth grade workload. In fact, I get more calls at work telling me how bored she is when she gets home from school than I do calls from Alex calling and asking me where his other blue sock is. (That's A LOT.)
Erin has become my fashion guru. She has taken to joining me in my closet on an almost nightly basis to plan my outfit for the next day. On the days where she hasn't helped out, she is the first at the door to see what I've put together. The kid has some style and a keen sense of what is work appropriate while being a bit edgy. She has pulled out things that have had me gasping "Oh no, Erin. I bought that four years ago in Florida and I think I may have had sunstroke when I did!". Ten times out of ten, the kid is bang on. I look cute as hell if I do say so myself!
Meg is still at it with the piano. I have to beg her to stop practicing. Those parents with children in piano lessons will know what an amazing thing this. I can't pull the kid off the damn thing! She amazes me. She even writes music. Trust me, this is not a talent she learned from either parent. I can string together paragraphs of words, but I would rather hear the finished product of someone else's lyrical talent than attempt my own. As for her father, unless you call taking already famous songs and inserting the word "poop" or "fart" where the words "love" or "groove" should be, he's not exactly a lyrical genius either.
And Alex … That boy. There is no one like this boy. He's a boy who would rather lay on his bed all day that take the five minute effort to clean his room. He's a boy who is notorious for suddenly having a massive case of the bubble guts just as it's time
to clear the table. This boy though, will risk his lungs and own well being to play hockey. He eats, breathes and sleeps for the sport. He works hard at it, practices hard and talks hard about the game. I love to watch him play, and that has little to do with the fact that his team had an awesome 18-1-1 season this year. I just love watching him try so hard at a sport her adores. That, and, have you seen 7 and 8 year olds play hockey? Nothing is cuter. Sorry. Nothing.
That's where my kidlets stand as of now. We've had a great year of fantastic reports cards, glowing comments from teachers and more days of me coming home to a spontaneously cleaned house than anyone ever expects from their own kids. We've also had some days of complete frustration, family meetings about expected behaviors and crazy freaking out Mommy, but we're not going there today.