on relationships and subtext

The Kidling, as you know (unless you have been living under a rock), is in kindergarten.


My darling, sassy, precocious, obstinate school-age kidling has several older friends with whom she regularly plays at recess.

Sidebar. Did you play with big kids during recess when you were a child? Because I most certainly did not. I lived in a strictly grade-divided time. The big kids picked on the little kids, the little kids cried, end of story. There was no “playing with” or “having fun” going on. Pure torture was the only permissible interaction.

As I was saying: The Kidling. Big kids. Recess. I rarely get an entire story out of her, but I often get little tidbits. Last night, The Kidling started to tell me about a conversation she had with some of the big kids.

The Kidling: Owen asked me a weird question. He said “I have a weird question.” Then he said to Scott, “Should I ask her?” and Scott said, “It was your idea.”

The Mama: (waits. for, like, ever. this part of the conversation was longer than it looks. I can’t remember everything, dear readers, but I do my best)

The Kidling: Then Owen said, “Do you play Minecraft?”

The Mama: Why did he think it was a weird question?

The Kidling: Maybe he thought I would hurt him, but we don’t hurt at school.

The Mama: Well, maybe he just thought it was a strange question because he thought you wouldn’t have played Minecraft? Or maybe he thought you definitely would have played?

The Kidling: (shrugs) I can’t read his mind.

Oh, dear one. This won’t be the only time those words come out of your mouth.


reading material

Sometimes (always?) The Kidling allows me to see things in a different light.

It was snack time and Alice was eating her favorite crackers (these, which, by the way, have an addiction potential on par with crack cocaine). Being the good Mama that I try to be am, I brought her some of her favorite cheese (this, from an amazing creamery not too far from Our Town). Upon realizing the substance of my offering on a plain white plate, Alice cried out, “Thanks! I was just going to ask for that. You read my brain!”

If only the last book I read had been half as interesting as The Kidling’s brain.

mile o’ musings

Actually, it was more like three miles of musings, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it now, does it?

Like most weekends, we spent Saturday morning running errands. I drag the poor, tortured Kidling along on my jaunts about town while her father does the laundry or undertakes a random house project or two.

Yes, I know how lucky I am.

On this rainy morning in the span of just a few miles, Alice produced. When we reached our exit, I found myself without my trusty notebook and frantically dug through my handbag for something made of paper. Then I wrote like a damn fool. Below I present the product of this mile o’ musings. In order, to emphasize the randomness of it all.

“I’ll never run away from you in the woods.”

“My skin feels like it needs some candy.”

“I don’t like real pigs. They’re too messy. They’re too sloppy, so that’s why I don’t like real pigs. I’m not going to invite them to my birthday. If they would eat my cake, then all it would be would be crumbs with frosting on top. So, that’s why I’m not going to invite them to my birthday. If I see one, I’m not even going to say ‘hi,’ because then it might want to come in. I’ll check the windows and Dad will check the doors. I’ll check the windows and Dad will check the doors so the pigs don’t come in”


(whispers) Alice Munchkin Kid-LING. Alice Munchkin Kid-LING. Alice Munchkin Kid-LING.”

I’ve said it before and I will say it many, many more times. I would do just about anything to know what happens in that little kidling head of hers.