Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Smart kids

Today I heard another mama telling me about how her child can spell her own name. I hear it a lot: a 24-month-old who can count to 25, a three-year-old who reads books. I'm happy for them, I really am. But I also wonder why my kids aren't geniuses? Every time I hear another "smart kid" story, I feel a twinge that is something between envy and guilt. I'm a pretty smart cookie, if I do say so myself. so it must not be inferior genes. Am I not spending enough time reading to them? Too much TV? Maybe I ate too many french fries while I was pregnant.

I'm not sure that I would want my child to be a genius anyway. I don't think that genius = fulfilled in any way. It certainly can cause problems -- I was pretty smart as a kid and fought the stigma of being "the smart kid" all through school. I'd rather be happy than smart, If I had to choose.

I am successful at not envying others' possessions. I don't envy supermodels' bodies. But I am thrown into a funk every time I hear that someone else's kid is ahead of her age. I love my children. I think they are just the sweetest, most fun kids on the block. Nora is beautiful, and can boogie to music like no one else. Nigel has a smile that will absolutely light up a room. So why on earth am I comparing them to others? Please, if you notice me comparing my child to anyone else, feel free to bonk me on the head.

Saturday, February 12, 2005

Still here

We celebrated Nora's birthday this week, so much of it was spent shopping and cleaning for the party. Not much time to write.

But I promise to come up with some witty thoughts soon.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Happy February 1st

So apparently, we are all supposed to start working out today, so that we'll be in shape for bikini season. Somehow I think that this deadline will come and go with nary a situp from me. I wonder what the deadline is if I choose to go with a one-piece swimsuit this summer instead...

I awoke this morning, well before daylight, the entire family huddled under the blankets in our bed. I thought "it's a tad chilly in here." I went back to sleep, sure that I was just imagining a chill in the room. I awoke again at 6:30, sure that something was wrong with the furnace. So I traipse downstairs to the thermostat to see if I could figure out what was wrong. I had the dreaded dollar signs in my eyes, the ones that appear just before a budget-busting check is written to a repairman. I looked at the thermostat, and realized that it was set at 52 degrees. Nora had apparently decided that 68 was too warm, and made some adjustments unbeknownst to me.

The furnace ran for more than an hour.