For the first time in our history, including more than 20 years of kids and 17 years of sports, we are treating a concussion, our first head injury.
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The lunchbox is suspiciously heavy as I pull it out of the backpack, where it just squeezes into the space above the textbooks.
“The grill is on fire,” my son said calmly. I looked over and, sure enough, blue flames licking from around the center gas flow knob.
I looked at the document, got confused, put it back down, and have been procrastinating for over a week. But now the deadline is looming.
Brownies? Traitor! I turn and stare at my new friend, who avoids my gaze.
I’m at Dick’s Sporting Goods, wandering around, looking for socks. Specific socks. Very specific socks.
Shopping for glasses can be a challenge.
Has someone swapped out my cell phone charger for his own?
For the millionth time, I wish I didn’t have to deny one of my kids something amazing. I wish I had a money tree to shake.
Really, not eating for 30 hours — well, OK, for 28.5 hours — wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be.
Mom looks back on high school hockey season after the last game.
I’m curious; my college student daughter virtually never asks for money.
It seemed like my kid had finally mastered the art of purchasing textbooks, at the beginning of her fourth semester of college.
Jack has quickly adapted to walks in his shiny blue dog cart.
Mom challenges son to keep her away from bread.
Me, I’m trying to generate some enthusiasm and willpower. Yuck, exercise. Sweating. Aching.
The hockey stick was supposed to be a Christmas surprise.
“I need your sloppy joe recipe. Colin likes yours and I have had no luck here.” Ha ha ha!! I laugh out loud, startling Jack the dog lying on the floor next to me.
Old friends share stories, worries about the future.
“No changing the mashed potatoes.”
When asked, I describe my home décor as “lived in.” And we live in it hard.
“How about breakfast for dinner? French toast, eggs, sausage, home fried potatoes.”
Teen son is a good driver, but still, Mom worries.
“I’m exhausted!” says single, kid-free, small-car-driving Mark. “Oh, my gosh!” He waves at me. “She just did, like, a dozen things at once!"
"So,” I say to my son, “how were your Cheez Its at lunch today?”
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