Not My Child
Ellie, my seven-year-old daughter, has become quite a dedicated reader. Yesterday, she was so wrapped up in whatever she was reading that she totally forgot to come off the school bus in the afternoon. The bus normally drops her off with the neighbor's girls at a spot between our houses, but although the neighbor's girls got off, Ellie did not. The bus took off before we had a chance to flag it down. Alison, my wife, quickly called the school, which radioed the bus driver to make another swing past our house, but for a few minutes we were frantic.
Thanksgiving here was really nice. It was just our family, no visitors. I made the turkey, stuffing, gravy, and a creamed spinach dish that was quite tasty, and heated up a couple of cans of corn. Alison made this homemade cranberry sauce recipe that she makes every year, plus she did the mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. I think there was something else too, but everything turned out fantastic. At one point during the meal, my 13-year-old Stephen turned to me in shock. He just had a bite of the creamed spinach and was shocked that he liked it. "I thought I wouldn't like it," he said, dumbfounded.
Writing-wise, I’ve been bouncing between work on a couple new stories. Monday was a real downer for me for some reason. I just felt sad/depressed until, at night, I started playing with Ellie. Sebastian, my 11-year-old, came in the room and started talking about "forgiveness." His youth group had been talking about it, and he had his own ideas about the subject. It was actually a pretty good conversation, and between the Ellie playing and the Sebastian talk, I just really perked up.
Yesterday, Alison was driving the boys somewhere when a story came on NPR about families who use their children as drug mules. The boys were shocked. We talked about it at dinner. And it made me feel good, in a weird way, knowing that we're not the kind of parents who would even think about using their kids as mules. I guess in this day and age, that qualifies us as being successful parents, no?
Thanksgiving here was really nice. It was just our family, no visitors. I made the turkey, stuffing, gravy, and a creamed spinach dish that was quite tasty, and heated up a couple of cans of corn. Alison made this homemade cranberry sauce recipe that she makes every year, plus she did the mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. I think there was something else too, but everything turned out fantastic. At one point during the meal, my 13-year-old Stephen turned to me in shock. He just had a bite of the creamed spinach and was shocked that he liked it. "I thought I wouldn't like it," he said, dumbfounded.
Writing-wise, I’ve been bouncing between work on a couple new stories. Monday was a real downer for me for some reason. I just felt sad/depressed until, at night, I started playing with Ellie. Sebastian, my 11-year-old, came in the room and started talking about "forgiveness." His youth group had been talking about it, and he had his own ideas about the subject. It was actually a pretty good conversation, and between the Ellie playing and the Sebastian talk, I just really perked up.
Yesterday, Alison was driving the boys somewhere when a story came on NPR about families who use their children as drug mules. The boys were shocked. We talked about it at dinner. And it made me feel good, in a weird way, knowing that we're not the kind of parents who would even think about using their kids as mules. I guess in this day and age, that qualifies us as being successful parents, no?
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