Poppies and Shingles
At summer school today one of my six year olds said, utterly out of the blue (as usual), "I'm really skinny."
I responded "um, huh?"
He said, "yesterday I ate a penny."
"You ate a penny?"
"I like penguins."
That's why I like children. All those things were completey important to him at the time, and he wanted to share them, and so he did. He's really skinny, and ate a penny and likes penguins. Well, there you go.
After school Jesse and I picked up Eliza (nine months old last week, dear lord) and after a thorough slathering of sunscreen and a tussle over whether or not she would wear her hat (she put up a fight but we won - better fine motor skills) we set off for a walk down to the farmer's market. It was one of those hot summer days when your limbs feel nine imes heavier and your hair defies gravity. As we pushed through throngs of elderly tourists - "Oh look, a stuffed lobster holding a golf club, how precious!" - Jesse shifted Eliza from arm to arm muttering " Premie my butt, you're a little beast," and she flapped her arms and legs and chewed on the straps of her hat. I drank limeade and tried to stay in the shade. When we got to the market, our flower lady beckoned us over to chat about our wedding flowers a bit. Eliza, like any self respecting nine month old, put herself on adorable display, waving her popeye arms and grinning at everyone who walked by, and innocently kicking Jesse in the groin every few seconds, and we left with an armful of poppies, a jar of dilly beans and a paper sack filled with kale and rainbow chard.
Then I went to the doctor and found out I have shingles.
Rock on.
I responded "um, huh?"
He said, "yesterday I ate a penny."
"You ate a penny?"
"I like penguins."
That's why I like children. All those things were completey important to him at the time, and he wanted to share them, and so he did. He's really skinny, and ate a penny and likes penguins. Well, there you go.
After school Jesse and I picked up Eliza (nine months old last week, dear lord) and after a thorough slathering of sunscreen and a tussle over whether or not she would wear her hat (she put up a fight but we won - better fine motor skills) we set off for a walk down to the farmer's market. It was one of those hot summer days when your limbs feel nine imes heavier and your hair defies gravity. As we pushed through throngs of elderly tourists - "Oh look, a stuffed lobster holding a golf club, how precious!" - Jesse shifted Eliza from arm to arm muttering " Premie my butt, you're a little beast," and she flapped her arms and legs and chewed on the straps of her hat. I drank limeade and tried to stay in the shade. When we got to the market, our flower lady beckoned us over to chat about our wedding flowers a bit. Eliza, like any self respecting nine month old, put herself on adorable display, waving her popeye arms and grinning at everyone who walked by, and innocently kicking Jesse in the groin every few seconds, and we left with an armful of poppies, a jar of dilly beans and a paper sack filled with kale and rainbow chard.
Then I went to the doctor and found out I have shingles.
Rock on.