Fordham Miller Fare

job - that's a long 'o'

surely the field of psychology (or perhaps the war college) has information on roughly how many times you can ask someone to do something without them ever doing it before you actually go crazy.

sad

earlier in the year, madeleine struck up a new friendship with a boy in her class.  classroom crushes are nothing new to madeleine.  she has had one about every year she's been in school.  in kindergarten, her crush led to wild disappointment when the young gentleman in question settled in enough to take up with the boys and leave her in the dust.  all summer when we encountered this boy, bill coached madeleine on the art of 'playing it cool.'  it worked, and in no time she was a pro at handling rejection.

this time, when things came to an end, it was not madeleine but i that was crushed.  she and this boy had been such sweet and smitten friends, it was somewhat astonishing to witness.  (i also especially appreciated the fact that their playdates were not fraught with the hysteria and tantrums that are so often a part of her playdates with girls.) i was sure that this would send her on her way to a solid understanding of what a healthy loving relationship is. i mean, she is only 9, and of course it was only a puppy dog kinda crush, but she's always been precocious, and i couldn't help but be buoyed by their mutal affection.  we even went to a family contra dance together. i foolishly thought it was forever.

of course it wasn't forever, and while i tried to smooth over the rough edges of whatever slight precipitated the end, it was all for naught.  it's a done deal.  she's moved on.  for what it's worth, it appears it's a mutual split.

but the other day, when i was furiously cleaning her room in a particularly angry and fragile state (see previous post on entropy and baby powder), i saw that she had tossed out an envelope that had once contained several baseball cards, sent by the boy in question early in their infatuation.  the sight of it in the garbage can, the third grade handwriting, the sentiment behind it, brought me to tears.

pedal plow

this beats the pants off my ergonomic snow shovel.