KIabam! (The Falling Miracle)

He fell. From the top of a playground slide, fell over the side and hit tanbark. I saw him start to fall, said “Oh S***T!”, shoved my things at Peggy (or maybe threw them on the ground) and took off running.

He’s fine. Has some scrapes on his forehead, and will probably have a back ache tommorrow, if not some newly discovered brusies at bath time.

I’ve only had one other bad fall with him like this. Mom’s know what I am talking about. Your very heart freezes in your chest, then in a whoosh you’re in action mode. Yah, I ran my fat butt across the park lickety split, you better believe it. And I hefted that 65 pound kid in my arms becuase that’s what he needed.

It’s pretty miraculous that it’s only happened twice. And neither time was he hurt more than some bangs and brusies, because both times had potential for serious head trauma. (Thankfully, he got a double dose of hard headedness.)

Miraculous. Yup, I’m calling it that. Because with his particular malfunction, Dyspraxia, it’s all about motor skills. Nine out of ten of the problems he experiences are all traced back to the dyspraxia. A smiple motorskill malfunction that can be overcome to a degree simply by letting him be a boy. Running. Jumping. Climbing.

Sometimes even falling. Because that happens a lot. He will literally fall off his feet, while standing still. The trick is to try and protect him, without suffocating him.

No broken bones. No concussions. This is my mantra, my prayer.

My little Falling Miracle.

Cooking with Mom’s

The only times I can recall being allowed to cook in the kitchen with Mom was during the holidays, when it was time to bake. I can remember vividly lacing the top to a cherry pie, pressing out & decorating sugar cookies, that sort of thing. While I remember many of the items she made, I’m having a problem recreating even the most simple.

Funnily enough, it’s baking that I really enjoy. Quick breads, to be precise. But it is definitely the baking, the measuring and stirring and then leaving it alone in the oven to see what happens that is my thing.
It’s a simple equation, all the parenting magazines will tell it to you: if the child helps you cook it, chances are they’ll eat it. In this case, I’m talking about Sunshine.

At Thanksgiving, I made my deviled eggs. No recipe, just go by gut instinct and taste. He helped me season the egg goo, and stir and stir and stir. For the first time, he also ate a deviled egg with his dinner. Now that he knows what is going into it, that he can claim ownership in the meal, it means more for him.

Today, I decided to make spaghetti and sneaky meatballs. Because even though he chopped the veggies (kewl little contraption, you smack the heck out of it and you get finely diced veggies), poured them in, helped mix everything up… When he eats it tonight they won’t have veggies in them. They will simply be His Meatballs. The ones he made. The sauce is simmering as well. He helped season it, open the cans and pour in diced tomatoes, etc. He will have full ownership of the meal tonight, and I can’t wait.

Sometimes I wonder though: what will he take out of these experiences and pull into adulthood? Not the recipes, since I rarely if ever follow one unless I’m baking. I might start out with one as the base, but then I end up going and doing what ever the heck it was I wanted to do anyways. There are no 1 teaspoon of this, a table spoon of that. It’s experiment time!

I hope that’s what he takes with him into adult hood. That cooking should be an adventure, even when you’re making something as normal as sketti and meatballs.

Descriptive

Saturday, I was allowed that rare treat: a partial mommy day. I toddled myself off to one of my favorite restaraunts (Macaroni Grill), and had a very pleasant lunch all by my lonesome.

Actually, I wasn’t by myself. I brought in my journal, and the words flowed onto the pages ( 3 and a half, to be precisice) as I described the decor, the food, the things that were around me.  I did this intentionally, thoughtfully. I am writing again now, and one of the weaknesses in my writing is decription.

So what do others do, to stregnthen their writing? Because it occured to me that I needed that more than I had realized. Time to decompress and just be with the words. No fancy laptop (although I love that, don’t get me wrong.) But there’s an intamacy when you write things down by hand. Just you and your words, hanging out and having fun.

I may post what I wrote the other day up in here, may not. Will depend on lots of things hehehe. But I think I’m going to keep a writing date, at least once a month. So that I can go out and just be. A writer. Sunshine should be able to handle not having mommy around for just one day a month. Lord knows I’m present and accountable most of the rest of the time.

Me, myself and I are completly capable of entertaining oursevles.