Sneaking a Kiss

A new school year is upon us!

Dropped my youngest off at her kindergarten room today and did something I hadn't done yet during her six day tenure in school. I lingered outside her room, peeked in through the glass to see what she did as her day began.

First, a pause. She leaned over the counter in her classroom as if powering up some internal engine. Then, with a bounce of energy, she planted a big kiss on her palm and danced off out of sight. 

If you're into children's literature at all, you're familiar with Audrey Penn's book The Kissing Hand in which Chester Racoon's mom puts a kiss in his hand that stays with him for his first day of school. Understand why my heart turned to mush?

I've been grieving the transition this year, having both girls in school. Watching Maggie this morning took a little of the bitter out of bittersweet. She's a wonderful person; I'm happy I get to share her spirit with others but I still miss her. Miss them both.

After dropping the girls off, I walked out of school with a smile on my face. I climbed into my car, looked at my palm, and gave it a little kiss.

Pretty sure it's gonna get me through the day.

Laurie

Just Another Reason I Hate Treadmills...

I've never been a huge fan of treadmills. Even in the dark, cold months of winter... I'd much rather be running outside accumulating ice on my eyelashes and frost between my buns than running those endless miles to nowhere.

And yet we have a treadmill in our basement. We didn't buy it and we rarely use it--guess that was Grandpa's reason for giving it to us a couple of years ago. It has, however, come in handy on a few occasions so we keep it.

With two young girls in the house, we always keep the key to the treadmill on top of our refrigerator. Without the key, the treadmill will not work. Period. Unless... Unless you forget.

This post is about what happens when you do forget. It's my reminder to you to NEVER forget to put the treadmill key out of reach of your children. Last weekend, my oldest daughter decided it was a good idea to try running a 6-minute mile. What followed were burns on the tops of her feet that kept her up the entire night. (Imagine a superman pose, hands on the front rail and feet dragging behind on the belt.) Not pretty. Here's a shot of her feet close to one week later.


When I think of how painful a small "kitchen burn" is, I cringe to think of how bad these must have felt. At the very least, I thought, there would be a good lesson learned. But when I asked her, I got this: "Yes, I learned not to put the treadmill on 10 MPH." Huh? How about, "I learned not to mess with the treadmill." You can be sure we had a refresher course on why we don't play on the treadmill at all...

Anyway, the wounds on my girl's feet are just another reason for me to hate the treadmill. And to never, ever, forgot to keep the key in hiding.