Some Days Are Stones.

David Ramsey, pastor of Rock Springs Community Church in Cortez, Colorado (not the finance guy, though both men are full of wisdom) used to say “Some days are diamonds, others are stones”.  Unfortunately, today just felt like pea gravel.

Apart from being cold and annoyingly rainy (JUST enough to make walking the dog uncomfortable, though not nearly as uncomfortable as quarantining with a un-walked dog), the day actually started out fairly OK. Virtual school in the morning, Girlchild had her class and Manchild did some online work. We are working on his handwriting right now, and so he has to write 4 sentences daily. At first he hated it, then we turned those sentences in to letter writing, and now he’s fully on board. Actually, he had been writing letters to friends and cousins, but after running out of those he turned to writing encouraging notes to our neighbors. Especially one elderly woman whose mother had just died, and he penned his love and affection for her and her dog, after telling her he was sorry her mother passed. I do love this 8-year-old boy!

Friday is the day our cleaner comes (I know my weaknesses, and seek help when needed). Cristina has become a friend, and I am SO proud of her for launching her own business, Fresh and Shine Cleaning Services, newly licensed and insured! However, this means the kids and I need to scamper out of her way, while Captain Schenanigans hides under the stairs working in his dungeon. So we got sandwiches from Subway and ate them in the car while I read aloud from The Magic Bicycle chapter book.

We stopped for groceries and snowballs (for you non-Marylanders, picture a sno-cone or shave ice with flavor pumped on to it, and maybe marshmallow topping), then high tailed it home to catch Manchild’s online class.  We got there just as Cristina was wrapping up, and she gave us a shiny new folder with the name of her newly minted company on it. Inside was information including her new website:,  which is a huge step for her.

She asked me to leave a review, which I did. Then I perused her gallery of photos and low and behold, there was Manchild’s old room with a before and after picture (he has since moved to a different room)! Wow! I did not expect to see that. It makes sense, there is definitely a dramatic change every Friday in this house. But to see your home as an example of “dirty” online is not adding the polish to today’s diamond. Oh well, I hope it helps her gain clients. To be fair, that rug doesn’t get any cleaner than she got it, and those stains weren’t coming clean no matter how much she vacuums.

Manchild’s conference call started off educational, then at the last minute switched to a fun game where the teacher called out for the kids to find something (old, red, flat, whatever), and they race off to be the first to bring it to show the class.  Girlchild seems to be causally observing, when I hear “Something with holes? Mom’s laundry basket!” And before I knew it the entire second grade class was staring at my dirty laundry.

“Uh, Girlchild? Tell me my unmentionables were not visible, please. ”

“Oh, I don’t think so, I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

*Facepalm* Carry on.

Soon Manchild’s class was over (I can always tell when it ends from anywhere in the house because I loudly hear him asking “CAN I GO NOW? CAN I?)”  That’s my boy. Crazy smart, can fix things with his hands to rival any businessman, but academia was not holding his interests. I’m on the phone when he comes into the kitchen, opens the freezer, and pulls out a bag of half used frozen peas. I motion that he was certainly welcome to eat them and was silently pleased that my urging for healthy food choices was FINALLY influencing his decisions.

Until something whizzed past my leg. Or I thought it did. It was hard to tell. Until the dog, standing in the foyer, turned his head to look at something flying past in him as well. I hear a few more things hit the hardwood in the living room before Manchild saunters into the kitchen and holds up this… ! 20200508_211458

It’s the top half of a PVC sword my husband had made him and painted silver. Manchild cut a piece off, and made a pea shooter. In the house. By now peas are flying left and right and I astounded that he foresees no bad ending to this story.  Frozen peas. Flying through the house.

“Manchild! What are you doing?!” I yell/ask, stepping on peas while spotting more peas down the hall and into the bathroom. “These are going to get smashed and rot!” Cristina had not left more than an hour ago. It was right about now I was cursing the dog for not eating produce. Any healthy, American mutt ought to be all over this food fight like white on rice! Stinking Grover.

After a threat of losing privileges, and with the delegating supervision of his older, wiser, sister (“YOU MISSED ONE OVER THERE! MANCHILD! YOU MISSED THAT ONE! GET IT!), most all of the peas did seem to disappear. Curiously, so did the pea shooter…and about a cup of un-popped pop corn kernels with it. They turn up in his bed at bedtime. I let his father handle that. After all, it’s nearly Mother’s Day, and why should mothers have all the fun of parenting. That mess needs to get spread around! Like peas.





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