Day Off

Zoe was off school today, and I was off work, so we did what mothers and daughters since time immemorial have done: we went shopping together.

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The best of both of us

Tonight was one of those nights where I am reminded once again that my darling child consists of a combination of genes from both me and her father. It’s freaky when that happens.

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Easy peasy breezy Zozo

I was reminded today how lucky I am to have a laid-back kid who doesn’t freak out about stuff. The reminder came at this morning’s dentist appointment, her usual six-month check-up. I booked it for first thing in the morning to get it out of the way, so we were there by 8:30 and didn’t have to wait long. There were two other families in the waiting area, one of whom had already sent their child back and the other a mother waiting with her daughter who appeared to be about seven years old. The daughter was snuggled up tight to her mom, and looked terrified. She whimpered softly every few minutes, and her mother whispered what I can only assume were calm assurances that everything would be fine.

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A trip to the Capitol. Capital!

Three adults took five Girl Scout Cadettes to Jefferson City, Missouri’s state capital today. We hopped on the Amtrak at 9:40 this morning and returned at about 9:20 tonight. We visited the Missouri capitol building, the Lohman Warehouse and General Store, the Missouri State Penitentiary Museum, the News Tribune newsroom and editor’s office, a small café, a pizza joint, and YoYum.

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Owl Surgery

Zoe called me in to tuck her into bed last night, and when I walked in I found her frozen and staring down at the sheets. Normally this means she’s discovered a spider or some other bug, or she’s just barfed, or something equally disgusting has just taken place. I steeled myself and asked, “What’s going on?”

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It’s not heavy. It’s my backpack.

Yesterday morning, in an effort to help my child who is still struggling with a Halloween hangover, I loaded her laptop and power cord into her backpack and went to move it to the door. I actually grunted when I picked up her pack. The thing has some heft. It’s all Vera Bradley bright flowers and quilted softness, but it’s stuffed to the gills with paper and tech. Then I remembered that she had band today and needed to haul her clarinet in, too. Out of curiosity, I toted everything back to my bathroom and set it all on the scale. Her load clocked in at 26 pounds.

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Watch out. She’s writing again.

I finally, for the first time in well over a month, have time and space to write. It feels amazing. And yet, I sit here and struggle to think of some topic worthy of committing to paper. Or screen, rather.

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Goodbye, 2016. Hello, 2017.

On the face of it, 2016 stunk it up, and so many of us are happy to see it go. 2016 brought a torrent of cultural and political pain from which the country is still reeling. On a personal level, it wasn’t exactly a banner year, either. As I reflected on the past year over the past week, I found myself scowling and angry, and frightened for what’s to come.

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