Last week in music class, when it was time to “blow out the lights” for the quiet song, Lucia ran across the circle right up to the teacher, wanting to be the child chosen to be lifted up and allowed to turn off the light switch. The teacher lifted her up, she flipped the switch, and she then ran back to me with the happiest grin on her face. She was so, so thrilled. In the same class, Greta chose not to nap in the Bjorn as she usually does, so I took her out and she sat with us for the duration. During the dance song, a dad I’m friendly with danced with Greta, so I got to dance with Lucia, doing the spins and dips she loves (and which I can’t do when Greta’s on my chest). A fun class all around.
We had an arduous experience on Thursday. I’d misjudged the weather, thinking it was warmer than it was, and I loaded us all up for a playground trip in the morning, only to find the playground snow-covered and freezing. Lucia ran after some pigeons for a while and Greta snoozed in the stroller, but it became quickly clear that it was too cold to be outside. I didn’t want to go home, though, because I wanted Greta to keep sleeping. I suggested to Lucia that we go to a café for a bagel. “That sounds yummy!!” she exclaimed. It did. But when we got to 5th Ave. and started walking the five blocks to the bagel shop, the wind picked up, and it was just bitter cold. Greta woke from the wind in her face and started screaming. Lucia began whimpering because her hands were cold. I suggested we just go home and, through her tears, she moaned “Nooo……bagel………” I just felt paralyzed. We weren’t near home, we weren’t near the bagel place, I couldn’t carry Lucia because I was pushing Greta in the stroller, the wind was blowing. Fortunately a grocery store was right across the street. I hustled us over, and we bought bagels and ate them at home. I just felt so done with the city at that moment. I wanted a car to zip us over to a bagel place. I didn’t want to be leading my kids on a forced march just so mama could get out of the house. Ridiculous.
I was blowing on Lucia’s oatmeal the other morning, cooling it off, and I tasted a little bit to make sure it was okay. “That’s mine,” Lucia yelled. “Don’t eat it!” The things she says are just getting funnier and funnier.