It's 2018, I'm six years old, and the whole world has lessons for me to learn. Many of the lessons are scripted, some are hidden in the laugh tracks of the Richie Rich sitcoms that stream on Netflix, and others are seemingly unintentional.
This week, while hanging at the pool with my dad and the Clark girls, I went to lean on the pool chair while slipping on my flip flop. Who designed these pool chair death traps anyway? Did somebody have an extra bag of large rubber bands lying around and a metal chair frame and decide that one could complete the other? I leaned my entire body weight on the seat of the chair, I mean, I just sat in it, so I know it can hold my weight, but, the joke was on me because the seat is no seat at all, but a series of elastic straps. When my butt distributes its weight across the straps, it holds my body up, but when my tiny hand leans in, it finds its way right through the straps and I fell headlong right into the edge of the table.
Oh, I wasn't going to let the world know that I had been beaten by a poolside chair. I quickly shot up, looked around to count the number of observers who may have caught my bobbled balancing act and then made a bolt lock eye contact with my dad. He didn't realize that the pain behind my eyebrow had already started throbbing, but he knew by my look that I was holding something back. He intuitively picked me up and whispered, its ok, even though it wasn't. We walked to the car, drove quickly home, and by the time we hit the drive a goose egg bump was closing my left eye and by morning...I had a shiner!
I was mortified. I didn't want to go to church the next day nor horse camp that was to begin the day after that because I didn't want anybody to see me and think I looked weird. My parents tried every trick in the book: they tried to teach me that beauty was only skin deep, that it didn't matter what others thought and they even pointed to the lessons of a recently watched American Girl movie: our true friends will support us when we need them most.
Truth is, at six years old, a little of each of those lessons all came to fruition in the next couple days, so it would be easy to congratulate them on their prediction of my future, but in all honesty, it was the lesson that they didn't teach me that taught me the most. You see, my dad has learned to be one heck of a cook and my mom taught me to ride a bike. It is 2018, and roles don't seem to matter the way they did a hundred years ago when my parents were kids. There is no one size fits all solution to any of life's problems, and I know that because my parents are just regular hard working people who get as much wrong as they get right, but above all, no matter what role they are playing in the production of the day, they never waiver when it comes to loving me.
That is the lesson, the one that nobody planned, the one that hasn't been said, but is behind it all: I am worth loving. At the end of the day, that is what made it ok to go to horse camp with a black eye, as nervous as I was that the world would laugh at me, I know two trust worthy characters who have learned to stretch outside their own comforts to show me that I am worth the effort, and I believe them.
Today was the first day of horse camp, it took some courage, but just like in the American Girl movie, I told my best friend about my eye and she showed me she cared.
Monday, June 25, 2018
Sunday, June 3, 2018
The Pool
So, it isn't like I don't shower. I am no stranger to a bathtub either. I try my best to get in eight servings at eight ounces per serving everyday. I have never lived in the desert. And my dad waters the lawn everyday, sometimes twice a day. Basically I am no stranger to water. I am surrounded by it on a daily basis. I love it in all forms. I love ice in my glass and water in my cup. I don't drink juice (my mom goes out of her way to buy me water boxes, so I have something to drink when the other kids bust out the 36 grams of sugar filled boxes of "juice"). I even love steam. When the shower steam does its thing, I'm always good for a steam etched finger drawing, usually calling out my love for my mommy - I <3 You Mommy.
So, if water is such a typical daily occurrence in my life, why then is it that my heart goes a flutter, my pupils dilate, my smile seems wider and my squeal just a bit louder when my parents announce that it is Memorial Day weekend, thus marking one of the most important annual events of the year in the Eick House: the opening of the Westlake Community Pool!
This wonderland is filled with adventures of every kind for me. The trek from the parking lot itself can be an obstacle to overcome, you see, in my excitement to scurry out to my dad's car, it is not unusual for me to forget my shoes. The hot lava dance across the scalding black-top asphalt parking lot is just what it takes to get a ride in my dad's arms - today, my brother Tyler carried me - Score! Just to get into the pool, you have to code your way through a labyrinth of locked doors - I feel like a spy every time: the first door takes a magnetic card key and the second a sequence of numbers, just beyond which sit two secret agents disguised as a couple pimple-faced teens "pretending" to be working a summer job...nice cover boys. On a busy day, every table, and every umbrella is taken, but this is our home court, and it is not unusual for us to know at least 3 umbrellas worth of friends, each of which wave and say hello as we sneak past the guards.
My dad always brings snacks. Every time he acts like I might eat or even want to sit for a moment prior to or instead of charging across the deck and plunging into the crisp cool goodness that is 10's of thousands of gallons of water - I never snack. I strap on my goggles and I partake in every routine we have developed in my six summers of life at this pool. This was the first place I ever floated, and now I am able to almost swim across the entire thing. We play submarine, surfboard, and we dance the tango; then there is the climb on the shoulders, the stand on the shoulders and the claw the shoulders; there are all the areal maneuvers like air-splits, cannonball, and the pencil; and finally there are also the mandatory moves that my dad forces on me: the back-float, the distance swim and the crawl.
Upon reflection, it may be more than the water itself, the pool is a place where community comes to share time with each other, and truth be known, that is my favorite past time. More than anything else, I love it when my people and I are in it together, no technology, no hustle and bustle, just neck deep in maneuvers to keep ourselves from going under, and the feeling that if you start to slip, the strong arm of your family will always be there to pull you to the surface. It reminds me that this life was made for living together. Yeah, I love the pool.
So, if water is such a typical daily occurrence in my life, why then is it that my heart goes a flutter, my pupils dilate, my smile seems wider and my squeal just a bit louder when my parents announce that it is Memorial Day weekend, thus marking one of the most important annual events of the year in the Eick House: the opening of the Westlake Community Pool!
This wonderland is filled with adventures of every kind for me. The trek from the parking lot itself can be an obstacle to overcome, you see, in my excitement to scurry out to my dad's car, it is not unusual for me to forget my shoes. The hot lava dance across the scalding black-top asphalt parking lot is just what it takes to get a ride in my dad's arms - today, my brother Tyler carried me - Score! Just to get into the pool, you have to code your way through a labyrinth of locked doors - I feel like a spy every time: the first door takes a magnetic card key and the second a sequence of numbers, just beyond which sit two secret agents disguised as a couple pimple-faced teens "pretending" to be working a summer job...nice cover boys. On a busy day, every table, and every umbrella is taken, but this is our home court, and it is not unusual for us to know at least 3 umbrellas worth of friends, each of which wave and say hello as we sneak past the guards.
My dad always brings snacks. Every time he acts like I might eat or even want to sit for a moment prior to or instead of charging across the deck and plunging into the crisp cool goodness that is 10's of thousands of gallons of water - I never snack. I strap on my goggles and I partake in every routine we have developed in my six summers of life at this pool. This was the first place I ever floated, and now I am able to almost swim across the entire thing. We play submarine, surfboard, and we dance the tango; then there is the climb on the shoulders, the stand on the shoulders and the claw the shoulders; there are all the areal maneuvers like air-splits, cannonball, and the pencil; and finally there are also the mandatory moves that my dad forces on me: the back-float, the distance swim and the crawl.
Upon reflection, it may be more than the water itself, the pool is a place where community comes to share time with each other, and truth be known, that is my favorite past time. More than anything else, I love it when my people and I are in it together, no technology, no hustle and bustle, just neck deep in maneuvers to keep ourselves from going under, and the feeling that if you start to slip, the strong arm of your family will always be there to pull you to the surface. It reminds me that this life was made for living together. Yeah, I love the pool.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Horse Camp? Really?
Ok, so here is the deal, I am one hundred percent sure that my parents were well meaning when they found this horse camp. I am sure my mom researched it online, checked Megan's Law records for the thirty miles surrounding the ranch; I'll bet she called ahead and asked about food; and I am quite certain my parents neither slept the night before I left for camp nor could they sit still for a moment after they dropped me off. Look, don't tell them I said so, but they can both be a bit high maintenance.
So, horse camp.
To begin, it is a 45 minute drive one way to the middle of nowhere. The sign on the corner of the fence says, Sugar Ditch Stables, but I'll tell you it could have been called out in the middle of nowhere, dusty, dirty and kinda stinky-town. My parents dropped me off at 8:30 AM each morning for a week, and on Monday, I only knew two things: 1st - Elliot, my best friend from Pre K would be there and 2nd - I was going to ride a horse.
Well, what do you know? It is Friday night and on the way home I cried real tears: I want to go back to that dusty old stinky farm so bad it feels like I'll never want anything this bad again as long as I live. I made friends, and crafts, I felt alive and independent, I came home dirty every day wearing my shorts, tank-top and pink cowgirl boots all covered in head to toe horse dust.
We did chores and shoveled poop. We saw a chicken lay an egg (don't tell the chicken, but the ranchers said they were going to eat that egg). We all made sun catchers and bird houses. We ate together and we laughed together and we played together.
And...I met someone. Someone special. I was a little shy at first. I wasn't sure how this relationship would develop, but by Wednesday I woke up with one name on my mind; by Thursday night as I lay my head on my pillow, I could just see those big brown eyes staring back at me; and on Friday night, I cried real tears because I already miss my Suzy Q. I want a pony, not just any pony, I want my Suzy Q.
So, horse camp.
To begin, it is a 45 minute drive one way to the middle of nowhere. The sign on the corner of the fence says, Sugar Ditch Stables, but I'll tell you it could have been called out in the middle of nowhere, dusty, dirty and kinda stinky-town. My parents dropped me off at 8:30 AM each morning for a week, and on Monday, I only knew two things: 1st - Elliot, my best friend from Pre K would be there and 2nd - I was going to ride a horse.
Well, what do you know? It is Friday night and on the way home I cried real tears: I want to go back to that dusty old stinky farm so bad it feels like I'll never want anything this bad again as long as I live. I made friends, and crafts, I felt alive and independent, I came home dirty every day wearing my shorts, tank-top and pink cowgirl boots all covered in head to toe horse dust.
We did chores and shoveled poop. We saw a chicken lay an egg (don't tell the chicken, but the ranchers said they were going to eat that egg). We all made sun catchers and bird houses. We ate together and we laughed together and we played together.
And...I met someone. Someone special. I was a little shy at first. I wasn't sure how this relationship would develop, but by Wednesday I woke up with one name on my mind; by Thursday night as I lay my head on my pillow, I could just see those big brown eyes staring back at me; and on Friday night, I cried real tears because I already miss my Suzy Q. I want a pony, not just any pony, I want my Suzy Q.
I'd Rather Not Talk About It
I can be shy.
If you approach me without warning, if you make eye contact with the top of my head because I am staring straight down at the gap between my toes, if you think that because my dad once worked with you or my mom taught you or either of my parents know you from church, that I will respond when you speak to me: you are in for a surprise. I can lock it down. I once attended a 30 minute doctor's appointment, where I was the subject of study, and I never once spoke a word. Now, don't get me wrong, I started speaking in complete sentences at 13 months, I have got the words to articulate comprehension beyond my years. Unfortunately for you, I don't just give my words away to make anyone else feel good. After-all, I am in kindergarten, and while this spinning sphere technically revolves around the sun, I know it exists for the Daughter.
Last week, I was walking across some river rocks and I fell and I broke my arm.
There isn't that much more to tell. That single sentence pretty much sums up the facts and outside of facts, I'm not totally sure what else is pertinent here. Does it hurt? You are the adult, you've experienced, known someone who has experienced, or read up on the subject of this. You know the answer. Did I pick out the color of my cast? No, when my dad was my age and broke his arm they only had one color: plaster. Now, with the advancement of technology, they can make any color, but due to the current nature of political correctness they have to spin a wheel to determine what color you get; I was nearly stuck with paisley, but was relieved when I scored this hot pink number. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I'm not a fan of small talk, talking to strangers, or sharing personal information just because I am being asked, and apparently being a six year old girl with a hot pink cast is a magnet for all three.
The point here is, I'd rather not talk about it. A week ago I had no cast, I was just a 6 year old girl who could avoid eye contact, to which, most people naturally accepted as a sign that conversation was neither desired nor necessary. A first attempt at any of the above mentioned activity could be dissuaded by staring at my feet and zipping my lip, because, to be honest, most adults would give up on the sheer basis of lack of common grounds. Unfortunately, I now seem to have a big sign hanging around my neck saying, "Hey, check me out, I think you and I may have some common ground here, let's chat: do you have a daughter or a neighbor about my age who has also undergone a similar trauma to the one you assume I am experiencing? Do you have a life story that you could share with me that may ease the burden you assume I am carrying? Do you have any personally probing questions I could answer for you about my dexterity, whether or not my pain registry is normed with yours, or might you have a jocular and far fetched situation you'd like to suggest in an attempt to explain my current situation? Step right up, don't take the lack of eye contact, the tight lipped silence or the hiding behind my dad's leg as a sign that you are making me uncomfortable, you just keep on asking until you get what you need." I did mention that it is a big sign.
So, I broke my arm, it hurt for a bit and the cast is uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as spending the next 4 weeks with a grown up magnet dangling in a sling!
If you approach me without warning, if you make eye contact with the top of my head because I am staring straight down at the gap between my toes, if you think that because my dad once worked with you or my mom taught you or either of my parents know you from church, that I will respond when you speak to me: you are in for a surprise. I can lock it down. I once attended a 30 minute doctor's appointment, where I was the subject of study, and I never once spoke a word. Now, don't get me wrong, I started speaking in complete sentences at 13 months, I have got the words to articulate comprehension beyond my years. Unfortunately for you, I don't just give my words away to make anyone else feel good. After-all, I am in kindergarten, and while this spinning sphere technically revolves around the sun, I know it exists for the Daughter.
Last week, I was walking across some river rocks and I fell and I broke my arm.
There isn't that much more to tell. That single sentence pretty much sums up the facts and outside of facts, I'm not totally sure what else is pertinent here. Does it hurt? You are the adult, you've experienced, known someone who has experienced, or read up on the subject of this. You know the answer. Did I pick out the color of my cast? No, when my dad was my age and broke his arm they only had one color: plaster. Now, with the advancement of technology, they can make any color, but due to the current nature of political correctness they have to spin a wheel to determine what color you get; I was nearly stuck with paisley, but was relieved when I scored this hot pink number. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I'm not a fan of small talk, talking to strangers, or sharing personal information just because I am being asked, and apparently being a six year old girl with a hot pink cast is a magnet for all three.
The point here is, I'd rather not talk about it. A week ago I had no cast, I was just a 6 year old girl who could avoid eye contact, to which, most people naturally accepted as a sign that conversation was neither desired nor necessary. A first attempt at any of the above mentioned activity could be dissuaded by staring at my feet and zipping my lip, because, to be honest, most adults would give up on the sheer basis of lack of common grounds. Unfortunately, I now seem to have a big sign hanging around my neck saying, "Hey, check me out, I think you and I may have some common ground here, let's chat: do you have a daughter or a neighbor about my age who has also undergone a similar trauma to the one you assume I am experiencing? Do you have a life story that you could share with me that may ease the burden you assume I am carrying? Do you have any personally probing questions I could answer for you about my dexterity, whether or not my pain registry is normed with yours, or might you have a jocular and far fetched situation you'd like to suggest in an attempt to explain my current situation? Step right up, don't take the lack of eye contact, the tight lipped silence or the hiding behind my dad's leg as a sign that you are making me uncomfortable, you just keep on asking until you get what you need." I did mention that it is a big sign.
So, I broke my arm, it hurt for a bit and the cast is uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as spending the next 4 weeks with a grown up magnet dangling in a sling!
Sunday, August 13, 2017
T Minus 3
I'm a mathematician. I'm five. That's a number. I can count past 100, another number. I can add, subtract and I think about things in relationship to numbers. I know that my birthday is in the 9th month, I know there are five people in my family and I know that I start kindergarten in three days.
My parents are building me a school. It cost 30 million dollars (big number) and even though it is funded by the entire community, I know that the whole project really revolves around me. I like to run and jump and play - the school has a field, a track and a playground - this is no coincidence. Every classroom has a 70" TV, I love TV. Finally, the entire school is built next to a huge park...come on, it is so obvious.
I think people trust that my parents are trying their best to do right by the entire community by building a school that supports almost 1000 kids, but I know...
Just today, my mom was talking to my dad, and she had read an article that said we need more STEM for students. She looked me right in the eye and said, our school is going to have STEM. My dad spent the last week broadcasting to the entire community that no kids were allowed on campus because it was an active construction site...then he snuck me in to see my classroom. I overheard him telling someone that construction had fallen behind, he was upset because the big kid playground was not going to be completed by the first day of school: we went by to check on things and we saw construction workers finishing he kindergarten playground on a Saturday!
The truth is, I have watched these two my entire life, they work hard, they give to lots of kids, but this year, I think they are both excited that one of the kids who will benefit from all their hard work will be me. It may be kind of awkward from time to time, but the truth is, who else gets to spend 180 days at work right down the hall from their kindergartener...yeah, my parents are pretty lucky.
My parents are building me a school. It cost 30 million dollars (big number) and even though it is funded by the entire community, I know that the whole project really revolves around me. I like to run and jump and play - the school has a field, a track and a playground - this is no coincidence. Every classroom has a 70" TV, I love TV. Finally, the entire school is built next to a huge park...come on, it is so obvious.
I think people trust that my parents are trying their best to do right by the entire community by building a school that supports almost 1000 kids, but I know...
Just today, my mom was talking to my dad, and she had read an article that said we need more STEM for students. She looked me right in the eye and said, our school is going to have STEM. My dad spent the last week broadcasting to the entire community that no kids were allowed on campus because it was an active construction site...then he snuck me in to see my classroom. I overheard him telling someone that construction had fallen behind, he was upset because the big kid playground was not going to be completed by the first day of school: we went by to check on things and we saw construction workers finishing he kindergarten playground on a Saturday!
The truth is, I have watched these two my entire life, they work hard, they give to lots of kids, but this year, I think they are both excited that one of the kids who will benefit from all their hard work will be me. It may be kind of awkward from time to time, but the truth is, who else gets to spend 180 days at work right down the hall from their kindergartener...yeah, my parents are pretty lucky.
Friday, June 30, 2017
They'll Never Know
My parents will never remember this, but there was a time, way back, when I wasn't so brave. Not brave like I am now. There was a time when I cried at the thought of my parents leaving the room, and at the possibility of riding on a pony. Not now, not anymore. That was the old me and this year it is out with the old and in with the ... look out world here I come.
I'm going to be in kindergarten next year. It is almost July, so I guess it it time to say, I'm going to kindergarten "this year." It is big deal. At my school, we had a promotion ceremony and all the parents filled the room, there must have been one hundred parents clicking pictures in Mrs. Mo's classroom that day. Each of us got up off the carpet when we heard our name called and we crossed the floor to recieve our diploma from Mrs. Spalding our principal. Each student had the oppertunity to say something that we had liked about PreK.
It is fun to be brave. Not everyone is brave. My friend Cam wouldn't walk accross the carpet and talk to Mrs. Spalding in front of everyone, but I did. I told her one thing I remember about school this year, and inside I just laughed and laughed. Mrs. Spalding has no idea. She thought that I was just sharing a simple memory, an experience that any 5 year old would be joyfilled to relate in front of a room full of clicking cameras. What Mrs. Spalding didn't know is that I had publicly shared an inside joke. There must have been 100 cameras clicking in that room, all capturing me as I eloquently relayed a memory that all the kids in the class could recall; but the click I heard loudest, above all the other camera shutters, was that side mouthed click my dad makes when he winks one eye in the sly way he does when he means to say, "That's my girl."
Every kid in my pre-K class will forever remember the day that the big inflatable caterpillar came to our school. It was there for the big kids who had learned to read The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar, but once they we done using it, Mrs. Mo said we could sneak out into the yard and crawl through it. This is the special memory I told Mrs. Spalding I would never forget from school. What she doesn't know is that the reason I wouldn't forget it is this: when my dad picked me up from school that day, he peppered me with the same barrage of questions he asks everyday, "How was your day," and "What did you do?" On this particular day, I had a story ready for him.
Daddy: How was your day Abby Jane?
Me: It wasn't a good day (and here I cleverly insert a pregnant pause to lure him into thinking I had a bad day) It was a brilliant day!
Daddy: A brilliant day? Great! What did you do?
Me: Daddy Eick, you are not going to believe what we did today? I crawled out of a catapillar's bottom!
Oh, man, that did it. He made a funny face, then I made a funny face, then I started laughing, then he started laughing. I eventually explained to him what I meant, but for a minute there, I think he believed that I had actually crawled out of a real caterpillar. Whew, my dad, they say there is a sucker born every minute!
So, that was the moment. I walked across that carpeted floor, in front of every parent in my classroom community, in front of all my peers, and without even missing a step, I slipped the greatest inside joke ever, A Caterpillar Bottom Joke, right past the principal of the school and nobody in the room knew about it but me and my gullible old dad. That will be one for the record books!
Bravery comes in all shapes and sizes. This year I learned to master the monkey bars both forward and backward. I danced on stage in a dance recital. I rode a pony...and on my graduation day, I slipped an inside joke into the script right under the principal's nose.
I'm going to be in kindergarten next year. It is almost July, so I guess it it time to say, I'm going to kindergarten "this year." It is big deal. At my school, we had a promotion ceremony and all the parents filled the room, there must have been one hundred parents clicking pictures in Mrs. Mo's classroom that day. Each of us got up off the carpet when we heard our name called and we crossed the floor to recieve our diploma from Mrs. Spalding our principal. Each student had the oppertunity to say something that we had liked about PreK.
It is fun to be brave. Not everyone is brave. My friend Cam wouldn't walk accross the carpet and talk to Mrs. Spalding in front of everyone, but I did. I told her one thing I remember about school this year, and inside I just laughed and laughed. Mrs. Spalding has no idea. She thought that I was just sharing a simple memory, an experience that any 5 year old would be joyfilled to relate in front of a room full of clicking cameras. What Mrs. Spalding didn't know is that I had publicly shared an inside joke. There must have been 100 cameras clicking in that room, all capturing me as I eloquently relayed a memory that all the kids in the class could recall; but the click I heard loudest, above all the other camera shutters, was that side mouthed click my dad makes when he winks one eye in the sly way he does when he means to say, "That's my girl."
Every kid in my pre-K class will forever remember the day that the big inflatable caterpillar came to our school. It was there for the big kids who had learned to read The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar, but once they we done using it, Mrs. Mo said we could sneak out into the yard and crawl through it. This is the special memory I told Mrs. Spalding I would never forget from school. What she doesn't know is that the reason I wouldn't forget it is this: when my dad picked me up from school that day, he peppered me with the same barrage of questions he asks everyday, "How was your day," and "What did you do?" On this particular day, I had a story ready for him.
Daddy: How was your day Abby Jane?
Me: It wasn't a good day (and here I cleverly insert a pregnant pause to lure him into thinking I had a bad day) It was a brilliant day!
Daddy: A brilliant day? Great! What did you do?
Me: Daddy Eick, you are not going to believe what we did today? I crawled out of a catapillar's bottom!
Oh, man, that did it. He made a funny face, then I made a funny face, then I started laughing, then he started laughing. I eventually explained to him what I meant, but for a minute there, I think he believed that I had actually crawled out of a real caterpillar. Whew, my dad, they say there is a sucker born every minute!
So, that was the moment. I walked across that carpeted floor, in front of every parent in my classroom community, in front of all my peers, and without even missing a step, I slipped the greatest inside joke ever, A Caterpillar Bottom Joke, right past the principal of the school and nobody in the room knew about it but me and my gullible old dad. That will be one for the record books!
Bravery comes in all shapes and sizes. This year I learned to master the monkey bars both forward and backward. I danced on stage in a dance recital. I rode a pony...and on my graduation day, I slipped an inside joke into the script right under the principal's nose.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
It was like magic...
When you wake up before the sun it can really only mean one of two things. It could mean that the wind is blowing that tree just outside my window, and the branches are scratching just light enough to cause we to wonder what monsters are hiding in my closet. On the other hand, it could also mean that today is one of a number of official, I get a present, holidays.
Today was Valentine's day, and although that is not one of the big three gift getting holidays in a kid's life, it is big enough to wake up early for. I made sure my mommy and daddy were clear that I was expecting a present before I went to sleep last night. So, first thing this morning, mommy is head to toe soaking wet from the shower, and I am up and out of bed asking if we could go downstairs to look for a gift.
It was like magic, the whole day. My parents co-authored a hand made card, they are so cute when they work together. They placed my card next to some magical candy hearts, magical because they have little words on them, and I can actually read some of the words. Also, they got me a great big stuffed doggie with a pink bow. My mommy laughed and told me that this dog wouldn't eat my candy hearts the way my real dog Jenny had! Mommy is so funny...she really doesn't get enough credit for being silly...I love her. *elbow-pinch
The morning was great, but don't tell mommy and daddy, the real magic was at school. We all wore red shirts, which, let me just say, was kind of amazing, because usually we all wear blue shirts. Then, Mrs. Mo, had us each hand out our gifts to one another. I was so proud to hand mine out. Joseph said he was going to try on his valentine's glasses as soon as he got home. On the way home, I told my daddy, "Today wasn't a good day, it was Brilliant!" I got toys and cards and I made a crown.
It doesn't seem to always please my parents when I wake up before the sun, but on a day like today, I have to be honest, it was such magic, I wouldn't want to miss a moment of it sleeping.
Today was Valentine's day, and although that is not one of the big three gift getting holidays in a kid's life, it is big enough to wake up early for. I made sure my mommy and daddy were clear that I was expecting a present before I went to sleep last night. So, first thing this morning, mommy is head to toe soaking wet from the shower, and I am up and out of bed asking if we could go downstairs to look for a gift.
It was like magic, the whole day. My parents co-authored a hand made card, they are so cute when they work together. They placed my card next to some magical candy hearts, magical because they have little words on them, and I can actually read some of the words. Also, they got me a great big stuffed doggie with a pink bow. My mommy laughed and told me that this dog wouldn't eat my candy hearts the way my real dog Jenny had! Mommy is so funny...she really doesn't get enough credit for being silly...I love her. *elbow-pinch
The morning was great, but don't tell mommy and daddy, the real magic was at school. We all wore red shirts, which, let me just say, was kind of amazing, because usually we all wear blue shirts. Then, Mrs. Mo, had us each hand out our gifts to one another. I was so proud to hand mine out. Joseph said he was going to try on his valentine's glasses as soon as he got home. On the way home, I told my daddy, "Today wasn't a good day, it was Brilliant!" I got toys and cards and I made a crown.
It doesn't seem to always please my parents when I wake up before the sun, but on a day like today, I have to be honest, it was such magic, I wouldn't want to miss a moment of it sleeping.
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