odds and ends

On Monday, I planned to pick up Malia from preschool then run some errands.  Kina was playing with the ipad as I was loading her in the car, so I took it from her to buckle her in.  We picked up Malia then went to the bank to set up new accounts for Malia, Kina and Tali.  Because I had all three girls, it was a little hectic, but the nice man put on a video for them so they were kept busy while I did the paperwork.  After the bank, the girls were hungry so I swung through the McDonald's drive-thru and then drove to the downtown park to play and eat our happy meals. When the girls were tired, we loaded back up and headed home.  On the way, I stopped at the post office to buy stamps and mail off some letters.  When I pulled in at home the girls were sound asleep.  As I was unloading Kina I saw the ipad . . . it was on the roof of the car where I had put it that morning. 

It's now Wednesday and I still can't believe it.

***

A few weeks ago, I got a really, really bad migraine.  It was bugging me all day, but in the evening it got to a point where I felt I couldn't function anymore.  My head was throbbing and I started to feel nauseous from the pain.  Finally, I just put the girls outside to play and laid on the couch praying for some kind of relief.  Malia immediately noticed something was wrong and came to ask me if I was okay. When I told her I was sick she ran away and I assumed she was going back out to play.  A few minutes later she came back with some ice cubes wrapped in a small dish towel.  She put it on my forehead and then started to stroke my arm and sing a song.  She kept telling me it "will be alright" while shushing me - even though I wasn't saying anything.  I couldn't help it - I started to cry - not from the pain in my head, but from seeing Malia's sweet concern for her mommy.

***

Me: Kina, it's your first day of school tomorrow! Are you excited?

Kina: Yes

Me: Do you want Mommy to come with you to your school?

Kina: No, Mommy. I go to school. You go run errands.

***

(I need to preface this story a bit - since we were teenagers, my sister Tali and I have called each other immature names like "bum" and "booger".  It came to be such a habit, those words are the greetings we usually use when calling each other on the phone now.  It's a habit I need to change . . .)

Last week, while driving in the car, Malia and Kina started teasing each other and calling each other names.  I asked them to stop and told them to love each other because "you're sisters".  Then, to distract them a little more I told them a story about me and my sister, Tali.  I said when we were little we used to call each other names, but we made each other sad so we decided to love each other and only say nice things.  I end the story and think I'm pretty clever.  Malia says, "But Mommy, you call Aunty Tali "booger". I heard it lots of times."

***

Malia's first homework assignment

***

(At the checkout line at Walmart)

Kina: [pointing to a candybar] Mommy, can we have a treat?

Me: No, sorry honey.

Malia: [talking to Kina] Kina, only DADDYS buy treats.

***

After watching "Charlotte's Web" earlier this month, Malia has been asking a lot of questions about growing old and dying.  She understands that I am older than her so she's asked me if I'm going to die soon.  I've tried to tell her that people usually die when they're really, really old.  On Sunday after church, we stopped to talk to our neighbor, Dale Tingey, who is 85 years old.  We chatted for a while and I could see Malia staring at him the whole time.  Before we left, Malia gave him a big hug goodbye. When we got in the car the first thing she asks is, "Mommy and Daddy? Is Papa Dale going to die soon?"

***

(This week, I got called into my old work, American Indian Services, to create their newsletter.)

Malia: Mommy, where are you going?

Me: To work.

Malia: Mommy, you're wacky.  Only boys work.

***

And lastly,

My brother, Joe, gave me a bunch of old school pics last week and I've been having fun comparing them to my kids.  I just had to share this one. . . .

The END