I'm taking a breather from the Arkansas recap, because the final installment there includes my high school reunion and I need to minute to work up to it. In the meantime, this happened yesterday:
Dear Laney,
Like all kids, it seems your favorite phrase is "Hey Mom, watch this!" A close second is "WatchMeWatchMeWatchMeWatchMeWatchMeWatchMe... ARE YOU WATCHING?!?" Which means that the most oft-heard response in our house is some variation of "YES, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, I AM WATCHING! I COULDN'T WATCH YOU ANY HARDER! SO, WHATEVER IT IS, LET'S SEE IT!!" Then you narrow your eyes at me one last time to confirm I'm watching.
I'm watching.
Usually, the act is a feat of swimming. Holding your breath, going underwater, that kind of thing. Sometimes, it's a dance move - a shaky arabesque or a pirouette into the coffee table, followed by "I NEED AN ICE PACK" and a two-hour recovery period on the couch.
Yesterday, you spiced things up a little by putting on this ensemble:
...and announcing you had some tricks you could do on your bike that you wanted me to see.
I suggested you could bike along as I walked to the neighborhood grocery store. So, off we went. You decided the empty back parking lot was the perfect place to debut your new moves, and after 18 rounds of "WatchMeWatchMeAreYouWatching?!?" this is what you did:
A solid performance, but next time, I think we should add a white tiger, a hoop of fire and some knives for juggling.
Or at least take the training wheels off.
Love,
Mom
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