Tetris

The way my mind viewed the day before the refrigerator incident.

I'm a tetris-brained individual.  All items on my daily to-do list must happen at specific times and in correct order so that all will come out well in the end. There is a sequence of events that must be followed. In the game of tetris, the various blocks are open to rearrangement, but they must follow the required angle to fit properly. There are certain items on the list that can be maneuvered accordingly to attain the same result. All items/blocks are manageable. Until one misplaced block jumbles the sequence of events.

The view after the refrigerator died.

The refrigerator is my stumbling block for today. It has served us well, but I could have done without its death. Why today? My list did not contain the extra blocks that its death has brought down quickly on my well laid base. The refrigerator needs to be divested of its items into various ice chests, then cleaned and then moved out for a good scrubbing of the floor and walls behind it. Laundry needs to be done, bags packed and the car loaded for a weekend filled with fun at Camp Manatawny. Delectable baked goods are in mind only, tickling the back of my mind and reminding me that they won't bake themselves. The new refrigerator, please Lord, will be delivered in the morning, but I'm not guaranteed that. Three children are quietly occupied for once and I don't want to attempt anything on my list. I'm sitting here, trying to work out a new tetris grid for a plan of attack. I will be victorious. I will achieve Tetris today.

The view that won't happen.

An Eel and a Starfish

    Swimming would have to rank at the very highest position in the minds of Evelynn and Caelan. It's been well over a year since they have had swimming at the YMCA, but let's face it... I've been a little busy since May 2009. Now that life has become a little more routine and under control, we decided to pick swimming back up. Elation would not adequately describe the girls as they saw the pool this morning. I was just as happy that this year, I don't have to be in the water with them. I now have an Eel and a Starfish, respectively.

The Eel

    Caelan was up first and she was slightly surprised to find herself surround by six other 2-3 year old boys. In comparison, my Caelan was quite calm and seemed less vivacious. Surprising, I know. However, she was a go-getter in the water, swimming where the teacher told her to swim. In her own little world of paddling, she was expending all her energy while the teacher spent hers chasing the little boys down. She was a little cold, chattery teeth and slightly blue lips, but she never complained or left the pool. Yes! Last time, I had to switch her to another class at the other Y because the water was warmer. Today's class was a swimming success for Caelan. 

The Starfish



    Evelynn and Caelan are in back-to-back classes, which make it so much more easier for me. Evelynn could not wait until she could finally get in the water. It was like being on a long road trip. "When is it my turn? Can I go now? Is Caelan almost done?" She is one of two students for this class. She went the length of the pool several times, a couple of the laps were with flippers and a board. She is still talking about her "yellow shoes for swimming" and how fast they made her go. To top off this first class, they two students climbed up on the diving stand and jumped in. When class was over, she was the last one in the pool and she was heartbroken to find that class was over until next week.

Growing Pains

While we try to teach our children all about life,

Our children teach us what life is all about.

~Angela Schwindt

    We anxiously awaited the Big Day for weeks. The excitement increased with our conversations and with the purchase of a small pair of black leather dance shoes. A stop at the McGinley School of Irish Dance will now be a permanent fixture in our weekly routine. Monday, Evelynn began her dance education, and I found myself unexpectedly caught up in my own life lesson. In the first moments of our arrival at the dance studio, I witnessed my carefree daughter become a studious, serious four year old. She did not ask for my help and was slightly offended that I had offered. She walked in with her dance bag on her arm and cooly sat down on a chair. She put her socks on and dance shoes on (although, she needed some help with the shoes, she never asked). After placing her other shoes in her bag, she walked right into the studio and sat down on a little chair with all the other beginners, smoothly taking all the activity in. I was, well, impressed. The little girl sitting out there didn't seem to be mine. Her mannerisms were so grown up.
    I stayed by the door for a few minutes, trying to catch her eye. She didn't even say 'bye' to me. She finally looked at me and I told her I was leaving. The look on her face was one of "Yes, I know. Go ahead." She smiled a little but then looked away. Oh, how I did not want to leave! Despite her excitement and calm demeanor, I really wanted her to have some kind of emotion that involved some kind of dismay. I was leaving her with strangers. She had only met her teacher once, but never the other students. I wanted her seriousness to just be uncertainty, but she never looked my way again. I walked back to the car, resisting the urge to go back in and make sure she was still okay. All was in order. This was the way it should be. She would be fine. I slowly got in my car and wiped the tears from my eyes. This is good.