Unsinkable

Rose is getting out of the shower and she tells me, “Willa is packing up to go to Mexico!” Willa is her pal at school. She asks me if Mexico is very far away, and I tell her that it depends where you go in Mexico, but Cancun, where Grandpa and Grandma just returned from, isn’t very far at all if you take a plane.

Rose: What about New Orleans?
Me: What about New Orleans?
Rose: Is it very far away if you fly in a plane?
Me: Not very far.
Rose: Can we go after African Dance Class today?
Me: Um… probably not.

This is super-tempting to me, I’ve been trying to figure out a time what we can go visit Luke, Jackie, and Oscar in New Orleans. Rose won’t let me off the hook, as she’s asked me several times a week since Christmas (when they were here) when we would be going. Unfortunately, MPS spring break is different than UWM spring break, and I might be at a conference in Atlanta over MPS spring break anyway, so any trips mean I’ll be pulling the kids out of school for a few days. Doesn’t look like Charles will be able to get off work until August, so I’ll also be going solo.

(For those of you who wonder why I don’t wait until the kids (and my) summer vacation from school, I will just point out that you’ve likely never been to New Orleans in May, when it is approaching excruciatingly hot, and I can’t even imagine what July is like.)

For a minute I looked at the kids having a long weekend next weekend and thought, maybe we could go then. And then I remembered Mardi Gras and realized that was probably not the best idea ever…

Rose: Hello Daddy! That’s what my doll says. She can also fly.

Rose goes to gymnastics three times a week for three to four hours per day. So, as much as I miss having her around and as much as the driving is a pain in my neck, it provides D and I with some unique mom & son time. Charles generally stays at work until it is time to pick Rose up at 7:30 or 8:30, and we’ve taken advantage of the one-on-one time by going to the library, quietly doing homework together, or chatting while making and eating dinner.

This evening, D says, “Mom, do you know that some people feel they are here on Earth to accomplish a really important purpose?” And I say that I have heard that before. “I think I am one of those people, mom, I think I am going to solve a big problem sometime.”

I ask him if he’s got any ideas about what specific problem, and he tells me he’s kind of frustrated because he hasn’t discovered the problem yet. I tell him he’s got plenty of time to figure it out.

Then he says, “Not to bring up death, but I dreamed that I am going to die fighting for something really important.” I tell him that as long as he’s 85 or older, that’s fine with me. “I might have to be a soldier though, mom, and I know you won’t like that.”

I tell him that there’s nothing bad about being a soldier except that you have to fight wars and that is pretty dangerous. He tells me, “But if you live, you have lots of honor… Actually, if you die you have honor too, but unfortunately you are dead.” I agree with his statement. “Though, I don’t think I would be the best soldier because I don’t really like to hurt people or look at blood or stuff like that.”

I ask him why he’s thinking about all this stuff. He says, “I don’t know why, mom! These things just pop into my head. Can we play Madagascar carts?”

And we do.

My morning starts about an hour before I wake anyone in my family up. So usually at 6:20 I am semi-caffeinated, and depending on the number of times you make me enter your room to try to drag your butt out of bed, I can get quite irritating.

This morning, on my third trip into D’s room to wake him, I stand in front of his bed and say “GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!” Then, the dog, Django, jumps onto D’s bed and sits, head cocked, between me and D. I suggest to D that Django is saying that I should let him sleep.

D whispers something inaudible, and then I ask him to say it again when I have leaned in to hear. He whispers, “Why not listen to Django for once?”