Enjoyed a good day yesterday seeing my kids again - especially my 2nd-graders. We've been having a rough time lately and I wasn't enjoying them as the individuals they are, and the feeling was most likely mutual. But yesterday they greeted me with smiles and hugs, and one girl put her arms around me and refused to let go until I offered everyone Kansas Day cupcakes. Like Chester, who greets me enthusiastically at the door but then stays with the groceries when I walk away, when food enters the picture, priorities change fast.
At the end of the period we had some free time and I let the kids play and we chatted. I said something like, "We're having a nice time now just..." not sure how to put into words what I meant, and S. said, "Yeah, just enjoying being together." So I think we progressed miles yesterday. As the boys and S. played with Playdoh, my other girl, A, gave me a hair makeover. She said I had old lady hair. The others chimed in, "Yeah, old lady. Like, almost dead old lady." (We've discussed the distinction before about how I'm "old" but not ready to die yet.) So my first new hairstyle was an extremely tousled one that ended up being more fun to make as crazy-looking as possible. "You look like a cat is coming out of your face," S. said. I asked the girls if they meant I had old lady hair because of the color (mostly gray - I mean, silver) or the style, and they said both. I told them I wasn't going to change the color; what style did they recommend for a 41-year-old-not-dead-yet woman? "Pigtails." And I just might do it.