This week…

Our street in Chicago

 

This week I am missing fall in Chicago. I’ve been missing the way the air smelled and the anticipation of the first snow.

I have also been thinking that I want to record more of the simple moments in the kids’ lives. It is easy to post about the parties and big events, but I hope to try to capture glimpses into their lives that are just as important. They are, after all, my bumper crop.

Antonella: Your teacher encouraged you in front of the class, thanking you for being helpful. You ran out after school and told me all about it. You got new glasses, and I sat in the background simply listening as you talked with the opthamologist. You explained to him why we only need four days of school. He turned and looked at me with raised eyebrows. I just smiled and nodded.

Jeremiah: You read. You really read. You’ve wanted to for so long. During an on-campus day, you stealthily slid your foot and pulled out the chair of the girl who sits next to you. She sat on the floor. You told me you didn’t do it to make people laugh at her. And you told me it wasn’t a mean trick. I’m not sure what your motivation was. During a bathroom break, you showed all the boys in your class how to spike up their hair with water. Your very patient teacher explained to you that although it wasn’t a good choice, you found out what a great leader you are. Yes, you are.

Samuel: You have been captivated with pilgrims and indians this Thanksgiving season. You told your teacher you’re pretty sure you want to be an indian when you grow up.  You made an indian headdress at home with your brother. At school the next day, making a headdress was one of the activities, but you already had yours. The whole class made matching ones and you wore the one you made at home. It was just a reminder to me that you don’t care what everyone else does, just like when everyone was playing and you quietly came into the kitchen and asked me if you could help me with anything. You greased the cake pans.

Augustine: You lay your head on my shoulder and whisper, “I love you, mom, ok? … You’re welcome.” Please stop growing.

 

This summer at the park

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