Kid intensive morning. Connor spent Friday night at a friend's, watched a questionable movie (thinking about if, and how I should broach this topic with the friend's father), and says he was up til 4. A.M. His disposition seems to be ample evidence of that.
Any other morning Scott would be impossible to get up before 7:30, like when he has to go to school. Today my heart sank when I realized he was not going back to sleep; it was 7 a.m. Bye bye, early morning writing time.
Last week he took a hundred dollar bill to school. It was his Christmas gift from one of his grandfathers. I didn't realize this until I saw him flashing it around when I went to pick him up. To prevent this from occurring again I've hidden it, and pay the price of having to fend off questions about where it is.
He's got a buddy coming over eleven minutes ago. Meaning, that WAS the ETA. Since 7:00 when he got up Scott's been fretting over 'how long it's taking', and 'it's taking forever' and 'when is he coming' and 'how many minutes is that' and 'how many seconds is that'. This child has been here before, so a soundtrack of foreboding has been humming in the background. I dutifully made scones, but I'm anticipating that his mom is going to be all-too-eager for a few hour's freedom and will probably be dropping him. Gary took Connor to drum lessons and said he's stopping on the way home 'to pick up skis.' Darkly I admonished him to not linger. I remember what happened last time.
Yeah, some kid play dates are maintenance free--a child entertains my kid so I don't have to. But these two require a high level of hands-on to keep their hands off each other.
Car door slammed...
...and we're alone. My prediction was accurate; this was a drop-off. Gary's not home yet. Scott has pulled out the prized toy that he'd put away because he wasn't 'prepared to share it'. Richard has claimed his seniority as guest and wants it for himself. It's been 4 minutes. I'm tempted to tell them to go downstairs, but it may be wise to have them here where I can watch them. At least it saves me a trip downstairs.
I'm trying to come to terms with a conflict I have about keeping this blog. In some ways it seems like the ultimate in navel-gazing (and in the most pejorative, self-indulgent sense of the term). Who am I to think that my musings would be interesting to anyone? Who cares what kind of thought processes and evolution path I take in deciding whether to stay in my marriage, or leave it? Who cares about the particular ways that parenting small children rub me raw?
When I wander around in the blogosphere and read some of what's out there I'm even more discouraged. There is just so much really really good stuff out there.
This could be a vestige of this country's puritan heritage expressing through me: the prohibition against self-aggrandizement, calling attention to oneself, even thinking well enough of oneself to imagine that someone else would be interested in what I have to say. The audacity!