I hate it when I come home from preschool drop off with a really specific agenda in mind and something screws it up. Preschool is my only free time of the day - those precious hours between 9:30 and 11:45 are when I study (when school is in session), quilt, make things for Etsy, clean the house, grocery shop, etc.
Today I had big plans to work on my quilt for the doll quilt swap hosted by Once Upon a Quilt, and to work on the second block of the Bloggers Block-a-Palooza, which I joined earlier this week. I had a really good idea for my swap quilt last night and couldn't wait to get started. But, once I got home, I was disappointed to find that my iron, which I just used last night, was inexplicably dead. What is it with me and irons? This is probably my fourth iron. I don't use them for anything except quilting. I don't throw them at the walls or drive over them with the car. What is up, electronic devices? Why do you hate me so?
So I did a little bit of work on my quilt blocks, but there's only so much you can do without pressing seams. And now there's not enough time to go get one and get back home and still get something done before preschool pickup, so I'm stuck. Bleah.
Sofie turned to me yesterday, eyes all serious and grave, and said, "Mom, you're really OLD."
A little explanation - Sofie is grappling with the concept of mortality, and has been since Grandma died. It's normal for kids this age, although I think she got an earlier start on it than most kids do. But she talks frequently and with great enthusiasm about how she wants to live forever, and maybe if she eats her vitamins and healthy snacks and gets lots of exercise she will! She can live forever!
And I know you're not supposed to lie to kids about this stuff. I have, at various points, told her the truth - that everyone dies, but that she'll live a long, long time and that people live to be over ONE HUNDRED sometimes (the biggest number she knows and one that always impresses her). But it's hard when she repeats this on a daily basis to say anything other than, "Well maybe you're right. It could happen!"
But yesterday was the first time she seemed to realize that because *I* am older than her, I'm probably closer to death than she is, and the ramifications hit home.
So instead of getting huffy about how NOT old mommy is, I just gave her a big hug and told her how young we both really are and how long people live.
And then I got us both a vitamin. It seemed to help.
He's still pretty spry, though - he follows Sofie and I around the house most of the day, and finds a variety of warm places to sleep in between visits (like the bottom shelf of the end table, in the pic above, directly in front of a heater vent), and begs for treats, and mostly acts like himself still. I've decided he gets a can of people tuna every day for the rest of his life, if that helps him maintain his weight and last a little longer.
I seem to be morbid today. I blame the freaking iron.