Why yes, I did post a picture of my laundry on the internet. Some would call it honest and real. Others would say I just haven't had anything interesting to say in quite a while. Others would be correct.
The past week has been a little too busy for blogging, but not in an exciting kind of way. Just a lot of after-school activities, laundry, and cleaning.
This weekend, however, was gorgeous and 75 degrees, and we were finally able to get out of the house and have some fun. Friday night was our neighborhood moms' night out, and we played Bunco. It was fun in a mathematical sort of way, but all of the addition and dice-rolling gives me a headache. I do enjoy hanging out with the neighbors, though, and it was especially nice to get out of the house for a while and eat some chocolate.
On Saturday, while Greg was at work, I took the kids to the school to teach them to ride bikes. Grace has had her training wheels off for a while, and insists that she already knows how to ride the bike, but truthfully her only skill is hanging on for a few seconds while going in a straight line, before panicking and either taking her feet off the pedals or turning the handlebars at a 90 degree angle. So far, neither option has yielded good results.
Tommy has proved to be an eager learner on the bike, mostly because he wants to master it before his older sister. He was determined, crash after crash, to get back up, dust himself off, and conquer that bike. Even when I encouraged him to take a break (mostly due to my own huffing and puffing), he just kept getting back on, always asking the same question, "Am I doing better than Grace?"
The answer to that question would be yes. That girl, for all of her artistic talent, intelligence, and creativity, has had the misfortune of inheriting her mother's athletic ability (which is to say that she has inherited no athletic ability).
Another factor that is not helping her bike riding skills is her ability to create serious DRAMA out of nothing. She can stub her toe and scream like it has been amputated. In fact, I am so conditioned to her dramatics that my automatic reaction when she is hurt is to say, "Shake it off, you'll be fine". (Normally that works, except for the time she broke her collar bone, and it took her Daddy coming home from work before anyone took her seriously, but that's another story).
So after a pretty good stretch of coasting straight on the bike, when she inexplicably jacknifed the handlebars to the right, the bike went down and she kept going. Even as she landed on the concrete, I braced myself for the screams that were sure to come. And they certainly did. I ran to her side and in between the wailing and weeping and gnashing of teeth, I discovered that the child did not have one scrape. Not one. My accusatory, "Grace, you're not even bleeding" fell on deaf ears, as she continued her wailing for all of the neighborhood to hear.
She eventually stopped crying, decided she was done with the bike, and went to play on the playground with her baby sister, who was teetering at the top of the jungle gym during the entire episode, while Tommy and I continued with our lessons.
I spent Sunday afternoon laying around the house, either on the couch or on a quilt in the sun while Greg played basketball with the kids. They cracked me up because they kept yelling, "I'm OPEN!" over and over again. Grace's explanation for this: "You have to say 'I'm Open' if you want the ball." Makes sense to me.