Catching my breath

Six years ago, I made the choice to quit full-time work and find a solution that allowed me to meet our financial needs without giving up more time at home then necessary. It was an easy choice to make but a hard one to implement. In the back of my mind was Harry Chapin's song "Cats in the Cradle." I never wanted to be "that" parent. So far. So good.

Lately, however, the corner of the blogosphere I'd been frequenting could easily say I've been neglectful. I don't blog regularly and I surely don't read elsewhere all that often. I'm not apologizing for it; it's simply been a causality of a busy life. It does mean, however, that I've fallen out of touch with some friends. I'm slowly trying to catch up here and there. Bear with me.

Back to the kids and the cat. Well no, I don't own a cat. Real cats make my eyes itch and my nose stuff up. I'm talking about that song again. It's been a while, so you might have forgotten - I'm one of those stream-of-consciousness writers.

In January I struggled to find a "50% off calender" I really liked. This thing has to hang on my wall for 12 months, I need to adore the images at least a little. I finally settled upon one of those "family organizers" with big, lined blocks that stretched the wall calender to two pages and the graphic to a mere header. I never thought I'd fill up those blocks, but I went with it.

The truth?

I've run out of room in some of those blocks.

Sometimes it's the incredibly mundane. Other times its a tad off the wall. "2 slices of bread into K. Easter Grass for K. Press release to T. Dog sit - Let S out am." That's my Monday. And that's just what I fit in the little space on my wall calender.

There's dance class and t-ball games. There's "read Dr. Seuss to Kindergarten" and "Family Fun night at preschool." There's meetings. There's haircuts. There's work. There's all that stuff that makes a family dash.

And it's all good.

Somewhere between scheduling and the fullness of life, we sneak in some down time too. These are the moments I cherish. The ones I think about jotting down in a blog or a journal somewhere so I can preserve the daily nuances that make these quirky people mine. Yet the intent barely makes it past the idea stage.

The truth, however, is that I'm ok with that. I'm too caught up in living it to document it - well ok, so I do often photograph it.

Here's the quick summary. The boy is mind-boggling good with numbers. He's 5 1/2. He multiples stuff like 15 x 3 or 12 x 12 in his head without missing a beat. He subtracts stuff like 247 - 24 or 1299 - 20 - 100 without pause. He's constantly asking for equations to play with or pelting us with numbers to manipulate for him. If this stuff is inherited, then he's got some mutated genes. Math and me? We do not get along. Numbers aren't a big fan of Dad either.

The girl is determined to read. We work on it when she wants; she is, after all, only 3. There's no hurry. Last night she wanted to try. She proceeded to sound out most of the words on the first 5 pages of Hop on Pop. Logan reads everything in sight - Meg will be there sooner rather than later. Clearly their blog fodderness will need to find it's way 'press' after bed time.

Girl is in love with her dance classes. Boy is loving t-ball. They have picked up a passion for photographing anything in their path. They're really pretty good at it. They play. They sing. They write. They draw and create. They love. They are the two best huggers I know. That makes all those challeneging moments worth it.