The Burrow

They don't like being referred to that way, the elementary school cohort in Amster's life. True individuals, they require different pieces of my attention.  Always have, always will, I imagine. That's what makes it interesting. Because of a difference of opinion over child care, my presence was required on Thursday afternoon.  Somehow, life knows when to send me the means to soothe my soul. I was in need, and The Littles were there to help. Off the bus and into The Schnozz, Kindle taken out and promptly put away as I declared my car an electronics free zone . No, not even just on the ride .  I kept to myself the fact that some of the most interesting conversations I've ever had have occurred just on the ride. Train switches and round-abouts, bicycle riding and banjos and being the elder sibling, a little bit of teasing and tickling and a whole lot of laughing and we were in the parking lot.... because none of us had any quarters for the open meters surrounding our...

You can read it in advice columns.  It can be told to you by friends and teachers.  But actually doing it reinforces the truth of the matter: kids like having your undivided attention.  The secret that's often unrevealed is this: grown-ups like having kids' undivided attention, too. It had been a long day, an exhausting week, an emotionally tumultuous time for me, for my friends, for the world.  The President spoke to the country, responsible gun legislation was on everyone's mind, my opinion was sought.  Elizibeth turned 15 and went to her first formal.  Parental insensitivity had been discussed and dismissed in draining, heart-wrenching, nearly-teary conversations.  Good deeds had been done, blog posts missed and posted late, sensations returned with little explosions of pain announcing their arrival, weeds sprayed, classes attended, and there I was, Friday afternoon, in the Schozz, on the carpool line, thirty minutes early. Some things never chang...

There she was, ringing my bell, just as promised.  Her big sister and I were inside, barely able to finish opening the front door before she began her spiel. She introduced herself with a knowing grin. She smiled, made eye contact, and spoke loudly and clearly as she stated the reason for her visit.  She offered a shiny brochure, all the while reassuring me that the cookies were in the car, and delivery would be immediate.  Still, I was allowed to fondle the folder.  I was the customer, and the young lady was looking to close a sale. Little Cuter requested one box of Thin Mints, and G'ma will be pleasantly surprised if I show up at the pod-castle with something vaguely familiar from her past. Two boxes seemed like a reasonable purchase, until I saw the newest addition to the pantheon of boxed goodies:  "Yes, that's a new product,"  my Daisy Scout was pleased to inform me.  The trefoil shortbread cookies were trying to tempt me, but I co...

There's a lot involved with decorating. This is especially true when your mother has a J-O-B and absolutely no interest in knick-knacks. It's a good thing that my part of the village which is raising these children is filled with wonders. Just ask Mr. 9. Gramma Rose, who's nobody's grandmother by blood but everybody's grandmother by love, brought the Hawkeye's t-shirts when she visited last month.  I smiled just a little bit to myself; the machatunim  tailgate at an Iowa game every year, having deep roots in the heartland, themselves.  All the pieces of my ever expanding family fit very nicely within one another.  I am the luckiest girl in the world. Miss Texas thought she was pretty lucky, too. My walker never looked better, nor did that spider hat on her head. "Why does this have a bow on it?" she wondered "Because it made me smile," was enough of an answer.... for both of us. "What's a mallet?...