Dare I type this?

Filling out the YMCA registration, is there anything we should know about your child? “Carrot just moved in with us, and calls us both Mama Erat & Mama Croi. She calls her previous foster mom, “Mama”, and occasionally her biological mom, “Mama” as well.  We just ask “do you mean Mama Croi?” and she will clarify.” 

Oh, how quickly we get identified as “that family.”

Last weekend, we rode our bikes to the library.  Zucchini had lost her library card, and waited to speak to a librarian to get a new one. She was still wearing her heet because… well, I am not exactly sure, but she was. She suddenly got very shy, and could hardly be understood, broken by a fit of the giggles when she took a break. I stood next to her, encouraging her to tell the librarian what she needed. Well, that was too much attention away from Carrot, so she decided to start hitting me.

Please picture me, holding a four-year old in a basket hold, in front of the main library desk, while a ten year old in a bike helmet is whispering without making eye contact. As the junior librarian asks if I am her motherr.

Sometimes, we just stick out.

This weekend, dare I say it, felt pretty “normal.”  Friday was my first day alone with all three kids—and guess what?  We rocked!  A trip back to the library (drama free), made leaf invitations (yes, thanks to pi.nterest, Hungry Caterpillar won out), and hand-delivered them to our neighbors. I made lunch–and, are you ready–people even ATE the lunch I made.  Wow.

The girls are currently sleeping, with little more than the typical sibling bickering all weekend.  I think this weekend was just what we all needed. Long (Zucchini was here Thursday through Monday) and relaxed.