“I think if you want to see her stop playing and kill you all like it’s a job, you take me out there,” Corwyn said with a grunt, then brought her boot down, hard, into his foot.
This is an odd week—it’s a lot of waiting to see stuff. Mostly good stuff (like, my story goes live on Monday! THERE WILL BE LINKS AND MUCH EXCITEMENT AND PROBABLY CAPSLOCK); possibly good and, worst case scenario, not worse stuff; and not-good stuff that doesn’t affect me or mine directly, but I am waiting to find out how it will indirectly affect me.
I hate waiting. I hate the unknown. I am not good with these things. I would be the worst follower of Earthseed, like, ever.**
But I knew this going in, and so I’ve given myself a very light schedule of to-dos this week (it helps that I have four days off coming up, during which I can clean my damn house), and my mantra is be kind and drink water.
**Read Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents. Prepare to cry. And for outrage. Because this is some seriously plausible near-future dystopian sci-fi, that probably deserves its own post.
3. I got enough sleep for the first time in what seems like forever, so I’m not a zombie tonight.
4. The kiddo has to exercise every night as homework, so tonight we rode our bikes to the wooded lot in our neighborhood and went exploring. It was fun—he told me about the weird creatures that live in there, and asked me about what I thought lived in there (I created an artists’ colony of monsters—they only want to make art and help people! Well, I was amused by it).
5. Then we rode our bikes some more and he told me that of the deputy thing doesn’t work out, and if the Lego maker thing doesn’t work out, he thinks he wants to be a doctor. A child psychiatrist. Except when I actually defined the term, he said no, he wants to be a doctor who treats kids for, like, colds and stuff.
Yeah, he was confusing a child psychiatrist and a pediatrician. There are times when I don’t really know what to do with this kid. (Usually I hug him, but we were on bikes.)
(I’m actually going to be pretty surprised if he doesn’t become a writer of some kind, even if it’s just something he does for fun.)
6. I’m now on the couch, alert (woo!), and the boy and Scott are doing bath time, which is amusing to listen to.
I may be having a very small freakout about my kid starting second grade tomorrow. He’s done so much growing just over this summer, and I like him so much …
I mean, based on the past seven years, he’ll continue this trend of getting more and more interesting and funny. But it’s cliche for a reason, that whole my baby is starting second grade thing. I have a clear sense-memory of the heft of him in my arms when he was an infant; he is now a lanky creature made entirely of freckles, elbows, and knees, but that knowledge of the particular way he fit into my arms seven years ago is still there; will, I hope, always be there, sunk into my bones.
But. Here we go.
I remember second grade as a good grade for me. I hope it’s a good one for him, too.