sibling fighting | Good Times with Jess

Final days of summer vacation are upon us.

I’m ready.

RB is ready.

BB is ready.

Captain is ready.

Could we have handled more beach?

Always.

Could I have handled more sibling fighting without having a psychotic break? We’ll never know.

BB is very excited for 4th grade and RB is OVER THE MOON to start kindergarten.

My BABY is starting kindergarten! Cue wailing, sobbing me for one second until my children resume destroying each other and I forget how to feel nostalgic.

RB is almost 6, so really I lucked out with an extra year with her. She is still very munchable.

Socially she’s beyond ready to go. Writing her name is another story. BB is bound and determined to “prepare” her.

From the backseat of the car I hear BB say,

“What is five times two?”

GOOD GRIEF! The kid can barely tell the difference between a letter and a number. Never mind write her name and now we’re working on multiplication?

They’re happy and I’m loathe to get involved if they’re happy, but they can become unhappy very quickly, so it’s tempting to preempt it if possible. I pipe up,

“I think they work on basic addition and subtraction in kindergarten.”

BB groans,

“Yes, but she knows this, we’ve worked on it before.”

I can’t decide if RB having a 9-year-old teacher is helpful or not.

RB adds,

“I’m learning to read!”

BB says,

“That’s right! What words have I taught you?”

“Potion, broomstick, magic and teacup!”

All the most useful kindergarten sight words.

Meanwhile I’m getting ready to leave for Italy in a couple weeks, getting our ski equipment sorted out and also trying to nail down our long weekend in NYC for RB’s 6th birthday.

I ask RB,

“What would you like for your birthday dinner in NYC?”

“Cereal!!!”

“Cereal?”

“Or mac n cheese from Añejo or french fries.”

Añejo is a fabulous Mexican restaurant, with a delicious homemade queso mac n cheese, ON CAPE COD.

I google “best french fries in NYC.”

One result is described as:

“Classic fries done right—potato-forward and refined.”

Potato-forward is what I’m looking for! Refined is questionable. One dinner option reserved.

I will save the ski equipment journey for another post and hopefully I’ll talk to you again before I leave for Sardinia.

As I snuggled RB on the couch the other morning before soccer, I squished her very squishable legs and asked,

“Are these legs ready for soccer?”

“They’re ready to charge!”

“They’re ready to charge?!!”

“Like an angry hippo!”

I don’t think this will be my facial expression

What a birthday month!

I do not know how to have the kids home and be on vacation and be working and be sailing and be beaching and be blogging.

I got it all done except for the blogging. So here I am. I didn’t forget about you. I never would/could. Someone will have to claw the keyboard out of my old, withered hands.

It will be like taking away my car keys. Until then I’m clinging to my early forties.

A 38-year-old beach friend was surprised to learn I was turning 43. She looked me up and down and said,

“So there’s hope for me!”

Which I have 100% taken as a compliment, but also, how much aging does she expect to incur in five years?

BB turned nine! It’s her last year in single digits. She is quickly moving into her tween years. She’s still wearing a Rufflebutt swimsuit, but I was told this is the last year for that.

I’m still wearing a string bikini, someone can tell me when it’s my last year for that. Maybe my 5-year younger beach buddy.

As I put RB to bed she asked her usual litany of random unanswerable questions, like:

“Why is that calendar with the chickens still here?”

“I don’t know. This is my brother’s room.”

“Didn’t you play in here?”

“Yes, but mainly in my room with my barbies and American Girl doll.”

RB turns to me in shock,

“They had American Doll Girls in the OLD DAYS?”

The old days? Yup. They did.

RB shakes her head. She seems to have forgotten all about the perplexing chickens.

Captain is on the verge of turning 51, so he’s really from the old days.

He just bought a new pair of shoes and I said,

“Those look spiffy!”

“SPIFFY?!?”

“What’s wrong with spiffy?”

“Sounds like a compliment for a guy in his sixties.”

Oh. Hmmm.

He took his brand-new, white shoes and we went sailing for a week. The sibling fighting may have aged us more than a week, but other than that it was amazing.

One of their favorite fights to have is,

“She’s LOOKING AT ME!”

If they have this fight on a huge, wide-open beach, you can imagine how many looks there were on a contained sailboat.

Most looks were mitigated with a bag of potato chips.

This is the wisdom I’ve gained in old age, don’t underestimate the power of a snack.

I’ve also learned that I can beach and work. Sail and work. Parent and work is trickier. And apparently I cannot blog and do any other tasks.

I’ll talk to you in August, before or after Captain gets one year closer to being genuinely spiffy.

P.S. BB is now proofreading my posts… so that’s how old we really are.