For Katie

We had a good weekend: my sister-in-law's 30th birthday, which merited a cozy dinner at The Chop House; my brother and sister-in-law's backyard wedding reception, which involved two big white tents and lots of casual, yummy food with family; blueberry pancakes; a family bike ride and playground stop; hot tub baths last night before the thunderstorm; farmers' market; morning runs; burgers on the grill; a quick visit to Lake Michigan on Sunday afternoon.

And then today was back to normal: dentist appointments, groceries, errands, laundry. (Am I the only one who feels like a hero when I wash all the sheets and re-make the beds? I feel like that implies that I don't do it that often, which I'll neither confirm nor deny.) Tonight, Jason and Annie were taping a segment about the upcoming piano concert at a local TV station (I'll try to say that casually, as though my eight-year-old being on TV is no big deal). Jemma and I decided to bake something (I voted for this; she overruled me with this), so we were in the kitchen together - aprons on, little chair pulled up to the counter by the sink, flour and butter and measuring cups everywhere.

As I was peeling peaches, she stuck her little face close to the bowl to smell them and I could see the sun-freckles on her nose. I fed her a slice of peach and we talked about getting more tomorrow from the market, then putting on old clothes and eating them outside, letting the juice run down our chins and get all over our shirts.

"Did you ever do that?" she asked.

"Yep," I said. "Peaches only taste like this for a few weeks. You have to eat them as much as you can."

I sunk the paring knife into the skin of the last peach and slowly pulled the skin off the flesh in a big chunk. I was thinking about how some moments are extraordinary, like watching the moon rise over the Swiss Alps or under the Eiffel Tower, and some are ordinary, like teaching your daughter how to peel a peach. I showed her how I tugged the skin away slowly, pulling off a wide swath before starting again at the top. I told her how, in a few years, I'd let her practice doing it herself with the knife, and a few years after that, she'd be doing it all by herself.

"And someday, maybe you'll have a little boy or girl, and you'll teach them how to peel peaches in your kitchen," I said, thinking about baking with my mom and feeling all Circle of Life about this cinnamon-scented baking moment. "Who do you think taught me how to peel peaches?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Jemma.

"Guess," I said.

And she said, "Mrs. McIntosh?" Her kindergarten teacher.

And though my friend Katie did not, in fact, teach me how to peel peaches, I love that Jemma thought she might have. Because in Jemma's little almost-first-grade mind, her beloved kindergarten teacher can teach us all anything she wants to. Because in reality, that idea is actually pretty true in its own special way, especially this summer. This summer, Mrs. McIntosh is teaching me to treasure the moments - both extraordinary and ordinary - that make up a life, including a Monday night making peach and blueberry crumbles with my Jemma.

It's What's For Dinner

Jemma has a new good friend in her class this year, a little girl who moved from another state just before school started. The two are inseparable at school, apparently, and constantly asking for playdates. Since Saturday morning soccer is finally over (yay!), we hosted O. at our house yesterday morning.

When O. arrived, her mom explained that the two of them had just been at the mall together and O. had seen a two-pack of necklaces she wanted to get for herself and Jemma. O's mom agreed, saying she'd have to be paid back later, so O happily presented one to Jemma and wore one herself. They were matching silver chains with little circle charms that said, "BFF" on them. Jemma thanked O a little less enthusiastically than I would have guessed, I put her necklace on her, and they ran off to play for three hours straight.

Later, after we had taken O home, I said to Jemma, "Wasn't that so nice and thoughtful of O to want to buy that necklace and give it to you?"

Jemma looked a little sad. "Yeah," she said, "but I don't really like it."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Well," Jemma said, "what does it mean?"

"Oh, honey, do you not know what BFF stands for?" I asked.

Jemma was quiet. "Beef?" she asked.

Ahhhhh! "No, babe, it stands for Best Friends Forever," I said, and inside I was dying, thinking about how my sweet girl had been bravely and politely thanking her friend and wearing a necklace that she thought said beef. Bless her heart.

The State of Things: A List

Recent conversations with Jemma:

Looking at a photo on the wall at Annie's piano lesson with Miss Jody:

J: "Who is that man?"
Me: "You know him. Who do you think it is?"
J: "Oh, I know! Mr. Jody!"


Eating breakfast this morning:

J: "I'm not in a hurry for college to get here!"
Me: "What? No, no hurry for you to go to college. Someday."
J: "I want to live here with you forever."
Me: "Oh, when you're eighteen and nineteen, you'll want to live with your friends."
J: "How many rooms are there?"
Me: "Where? At college?"
J: "Yes. For sleeping."
Me: "Oh, hundreds or thousands. It depends on how big the college is."
J: "Are there pink ones? I hope there are some pink ones."

*****

Things the kittens have eaten or tried to eat:

-cream cheese
-butter
-chicken noodle soup
-homemade dulce de leche
-brownies
-oatmeal
-Boursin cheese
-peanut butter
-carrots

*****

Times that Annie has had her seat moved in the classroom since the beginning of the school year: Three.

I assume we'll be hearing about that at conferences . . .

*****

What I spend my time doing, now that the girls are in school all day:

-getting groceries
-cleaning the litter box
-working out
-making food

*****

 Things I thought I would do while the girls were in school all day that I basically never do:

-luxuriate with a book and a coffee in my house
-keep a cleaner house
-write
-nap

*****

I have purchased a single thing ever from Restoration Hardware, and that was an end table on clearance about two or three years ago. But now they send me their ENORMOUS, RIDICULOUS catalogs on a regular basis. I need to make it stop. THREE of the behemoths came yesterday, and it is enough to make me join the Sierra Club. Restoration Hardware: Think of the trees! We have this new thing called The Internet where you can show your overpriced items without killing all the trees in North America!

*****

What I want for Christmas:

a DSLR camera
cute boots
every candle in Anthropologie

fin.

Things Jemma Says: Counting

I'm so grateful for the special little one-on-one times I've snuck in with my girls these last weeks, especially with Jemma. I expected to have another year of half-day school for her, and this full-day kindergarten schedule has me the tiniest bit weepy. Annie and I did some school shopping on our own and read in cozy, companionable silence together one day while Jemma was at a friend's; yesterday Jemma and I found ourselves at the pool for an extra hour when Annie went home to play with Lucy for a bit. We splashed around and pretend-fought over a yellow ring, bobbed in the deep end, and jumped in holding hands so many times I'm sure the lifeguard was sick of us splashing him. We finally got out, sat side by side on our chaise lounges, and Jemma said, "What do you want to talk about?" like we were old friends.

Today Annie was at a pool with a friend, so Jemma and I walked to town to get frozen yogurt. We sat on a bench and ate it, slurped great quantities of water from the corner drinking fountain, and then headed home. She skipped ahead of me on the sidewalk, her skirt flouncing in the breeze, and then she started counted by twos. "Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve . . ." she hesitated, but she kept going. I thought she'd get to twenty, maybe. She got a bit farther than that, encouraged only by my large smile and big eyes and nodding head.

"Ninety-four, ninety-six, ninety-eight . . . I don't know what comes after ninety-eight," she said.

"Hmmm," I said. "That is tricky."

"It's not ninety- nine."

"Nope."

"Thirty?"

"Nope. One hundred," I told her.

"One hundred!" And she skipped off ahead to home, where we read four Mo Willems books and watched Curious George until Annie came back. I'm going to miss this little one next week something fierce.

Things Jemma Says: Beverages

"I LOVE milk! But I care for water, too."