Wooden Broccoli

You win some, you lose some.

-As of today 4/4 Kendrick kids have completed their respective grades and are inclined to move onward and upward on this harrowing ladder we call academia.

-According to tradition, on the last day of school all of the students join in a dance festival which spans culture and history alike. This means the festival is a massive gathering of students, faculty, staff, parents, grandparents, older siblings, dignitaries, and former students. It is an agoraphobic nightmare stuffed with smiles and cameras. But, this was the first year I spotted all of my children before their respective dances and was able to actually see them perform!

-Foiled by social anxiety, Christopher gave me his blessing to slip out early after my kid's dances were done. I wish I didn't sweat and fret at the thought of being in high-capacity social situations. But navigating two hours of that kind of sociability will put me in bed for days.

-I spent a few hours on the perfectly-planned deck of my dear Mindy Gledhill eating pizza and commiserating about social anxiety as our children buzzed around in swimming suits. It's been thrilling to watch her latest album take form and function.

-I only got through an hour of summer break before I was grunting at the kids. Why won't they just put their shoes IN THE SHOE BASKET?! Christopher and I have this thing now, when the kids do something inexplicably irresponsible or reckless we look at each other and say, "ALL SUMMER LONG!" Did you come to this blog to hear about my perfect life? THERE IT IS.

-Before the kids were out for the summer Iris and I got one last hour of alone time. We watered the back porch plants and played in her cottage with her wooden food. She made me "burnt cheese sandwiches" (grilled cheese sandwiches) and a side of broccoli warning me, "Be careful, broccoli will make you fart!" "Is that so?" I asked. "Yes, broccoli and beans make you fart." I am old school enough that the word fart still seems so vulgar, and yet when a little blondy four year old says it, it's the cutest drop of human verbiage.

-Yesterday we celebrated Anson's tenth birthday. Anson is VERY ten years old. If you've ever known a ten year old boy I think you'll know just what I mean. It's a full time job. But I would like to mention that Ever came home a couple weeks ago and told us that Anson won the Anti-Bully Award at the school for being an ally and friend to all, and for standing up to bullies. It's so Anson that he didn't even  bother to tell us himself. He is very tender-hearted and carries a keen sense of justice. The more he ages, the more he uses it for good. And also yesterday I took him to get a haircut where he sat in a chair and played Nintendo. And like five hours afterward he looked in the mirror FOR THE FIRST TIME since the haricut and said, "Oh wow, that is really short. Oh well," and moved on. How would this life be?

-Anson turning ten also means that I've been a mother for a decade now. Was there really a time when I pined for kids to litter my house with their shoes? It almost seems like it was just a dream. Haven't I always been here, eating wooden broccoli and watching tanned-skin children parade about wet with swimsuits in the sun? It seems natural, though certainly not easy. Sometimes I think I might crack and break and die of the ordinary. But there are little bits of splendor that catch me by surprise and delight my crackled soul.

Like when Iris says fart. ALL SUMMER LONG.

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