You're probably getting sick of how many times I mention the snow. Truth be told, I'm getting sick of it too. Not just the mentioning, but the snow itself. Today, I'll try to remember to be grateful for the moisture it brings, and for the undeniably beautiful (if strange) aspect of snow on spring flowers. This week, it snowed on Thursday and then again last night. (I should know: I was outside at 4 a.m. this morning trying to weigh down a tarp in our backyard that was blowing around in the wind. And the snow was definitely coming down then.)
Still, though, I find myself longing for sunshine--for those beautiful spring days when the sun beams down and the breeze whips up just enough to keep everything temperate. (Even as I write this, I'm conscious of the irony that in another two months or so, I'll probably be longing for snow as the sun bakes us in the streets). But for now, I just want at least a few successive days where we can go outside without coats. It's May. Is that too much to ask?
Anyway, this week was one of those weeks without much rhyme or reason to it. Our usual schedule, anchored around Dan's work and my teaching, was a bit unmoored this week, as it was finals week and neither of us had a set schedule. In fact, Andrew's preschool was really the only set thing we had all week. In and around preschool, we cleaned the house, attended story group, went to playgroup (grateful that this week's was indoors, unlike last week), and went to see the current crop of university graduates line up for graduation. Some of you may have already noticed that I posted a bit about that here.) Aside from Andrew's recurrent efforts to get trampled by students, roll down the grassy hill, crash into his father (in a particularly uncomfortable spot) and occasionally disappear, I'd say the outing was otherwise uneventful. It was fun to see Dan in his full regalia--this is the first time since his actual graduation that I've seen this.
Andrew discovered a new favorite activity this week. Actually, I think he likes it because it combines his passion for food with one-on-one time with either me or his dad (mostly me). He won't admit that it's math, though, even though it involves adding together different amounts of cereal, or chocolate chips, or whatever the food of the moment is. It's "food-counting." Whatever he wants to call it, it's fun for me to see his curiosity blooming in different directions. I did have to laugh when he informed me solemnly that he knew a lot about math--more than me or his daddy did, even. He tried to convince me that he knew more than grandpa, but since my father has a master's in mathematics and a PhD in statistics, I found that one a little hard to swallow. Instead, I suggested we call grandpa and Andrew could tell him how much he was learning about numbers. My dad wasn't in, but I hope he enjoyed the message that Andrew left him.
Kids are funny sometimes.
On Friday, my cleaning urge got the best of me (and I do have one, despite what some of my relatives may occasionally believe) and I tried to restore some order to the house (which had admittedly been a bit neglected in the pre-finals rush of papers and grading). While the kids played in the other room, I tackled the bathrooms. Just as I was finishing, Andrew decided he wanted to help. I thanked him, but explained that I was done. I went downstairs to do something (I can't remember what that was now--laundry, most likely, given that this week may hold my personal record for longest amount of time it takes to wash all the loads) and was interrupted a short while later by Andrew. He wasn't frantic, exactly, but he was clearly agitated about something. An accident, he said. Since Andrew's "accidents" and "emergencies" are often different from mine, I didn't think too much of his excitement, but I duly followed him upstairs.
Once there, of course, I realized that Andrew hadn't overstated things for once. Undeterred by my assurance that I didn't need his help, Andrew had taken it upon himself to clean the bathroom for me. A good quarter inch of water covered the entire counter--similar puddles of water were liberally strewn across the floor. My baby, completely drenched in this deluge, smiled at me from the sink where she was splashing in the still flowing water. (I must admit, the images that this recalls for me make me smile, although I was far from smiling at the time). I banished the kids from the bathroom, dried everything out, and reflected that it's a really good thing that I like my kids.
Most of the time.
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