My oldest son invited a friend over this past Shabbat afternoon. They were playing nicely in the backyard when another friend stopped by to join them. Through mitosis or spontaneous generation (high school science was not good to me) I soon had a crew of 5 8-11 year old boys running around outside, inside and through my home. I love this. My house is not always the ‘it’ place to be, but on this day we were hopping.
To encourage myself through the vacation wasteland of the late winter months, I often set my sights on Passover, when we spend ten days in the fabulous city of Toronto. February and March find me daydreaming about all the upcoming family togetherness – no work, no school, limited errands.
While perusing the stacks in the children’s library a familiar title jumped out at me – The Five Chinese Brothers by Claire Huchet Bishop and Kurt Wiese.
I am a good sport. You name the game, be it with a ball, a board, or a deck of cards, and odds are I will be up for the challenge. I love friendly competition, and I am not a sore loser. That said, I really, really like to win.
Life was getting too simple around here, so just for kicks we decided it would be a good idea to pack up and move around the corner.
Last week we had a dinner guest. We often play host on Shabbat or for the odd Sunday barbeque, but a guest on a regular Wednesday night threw my children for a loop. As I pulled out a table cloth and began to set the dining room as opposed to the kitchen table, my three year old looked at my questioningly – ‘I didn’t know it was Shabbat’.
Warm weather is my best friend. My kids and I agree that sunshine and popsicles make for an excellent afternoon, and so after school we hit the backyard. For me the best thing about spring and summer is the footwear, in that I don’t have to wear any. While I love me a stylish pair of sandals, grass beneath my toes makes me a happy woman.
Tis birthaversary day season around here – that means in a 4 week period my husband and I celebrate our birthdays, our anniversary, and both Mother’s and Father’s day.
The early evening time slot often finds me running around getting dinner ready while simultaneously refereeing my children’s playing, timekeeping their turns on the computer, and repeatedly offering them healthy snacks. I hold out hope that one day they might actually reply to my pleading suggestion of ‘fruit kabob?’ with something other than disdain. On the odd evening when my husband is coming home for dinner this hour also finds me counting down the minutes until he walks through the door.
They say ‘it’s like riding a bike’ meaning it’s the kind of thing that you won’t forget how to do.
They do not say ‘it’s like teaching your 5 year old how to ride a bike’, unless the ‘it’ in that statement is something superlatively frustrating.