The dryer drones early, breathing steam into the foggy morning, while Dilly and Dally melt into the furniture.
They've taken a cue from our more relaxed schedule - evenings open for a game of Clue and snuggling on my bed - and getting my kids to get up and out the door in the morning has been taxing.
(Or at least it would be if I was hovering nearby. I've gone as far as putting in for the license, but I'm not quite ready for a chopper.)
Dilly's moods seem more volatile lately. I remember we went through this for a while last year; I see Greg's absence is weighing on him more, the older he gets. He's testing my authority, and I'm not sure what to make of these changes in our relationship.
We've been reading together each night, on his bed and the extra attention seems to quell his outbursts. I only wish he hadn't picked a Star Wars book featuring Jar-Jar Binks. The dialogue might be the end of me, reading aloud and mincing the alien language. But I'm willing to do it if it helps bridge the gap.
(I've got a lot to learn about raising a man.)
Dally took one hundred pictures on our field trip to the gorge Wednesday, amid wind gusts and salmon and a hatchery.
I think a dozen or so are devoted to a certain boy, making kooky faces for her.
I am dazzled by how thoughtful and grown up this batch of fifth graders has become over the past 6 years. When inundated with bad news every time I tune in, it cheers me to know these kids are baking up fine, despite it all.
(And 10 and 11 year olds grasp the global news quite well. I heard talk about the 'bad economy'; even Lexi's letter to Santa had concessions made to address the coming recession. I wonder if this will stem the consumer tide in this generation coming up.)
I'm wandering on the page, taking my cue from my kids it seems.
I lost my point somewhere along the way, and the bus in coming; the brakes give it away.
I'm off. I'm scurrying to the end of my post, blowing you quick kisses, grateful it's Friday.