Just Us Girls . . .

I have a rare week this week. Mr. P and Tiger are at Cub Scout camp, Boy Patriot is at a high adventure camp, and my little Lucy is at church camp. Where does this leave me? Home with only Hermione, my 7th grade daughter.

You must all understand something about Hermione. She’s probably the most like me of all of my children. She’s quiet, studious, and driven by academic achievement (hence the nickname). She spends most of her free time reading. Of all of my kids, she’s the only one with a biorhythmic clock like mine–upon rising, it takes her a good 45 minutes to speak in polite, coherent sentences, and given the choice, she’d rather stay up late and sleep in. You could chalk this up to her teenage-hood, but she’s always been this way. When all of the other kids get a day off, they’re still up at the crack of 7:00. Hermione? The crack of noon will do just fine for her.

I had originally planned to use this week to paint a room with Hermione’s help, but our schedule has been so ridiculous all summer that the room is still not ready to tackle. Mr. P and Boy Patriot need to get in there and move some things for us. I could clean, catch up on house projects, and the like, and Hermione has some things she probably should do as well, but . . .

It’s sort of shaping up to be more of a movie watching/reading/toenail painting/knitting/talking week.

We kicked off our week together last night by watching Emma, and we have Kate and Leopold on tap for tonight, most likely. I only have one thing on my calendar this week, so I’m debating now whether to fill the rest of the time with cleaning and projects and AHG work, or just playing around and doing stuff with my daughter.

When I was 12, I would have been thrilled to have my mom all to myself for a week. While Hermione is not effusive with her praise or affections, I can tell that the idea of hanging out with me this week isn’t entirely unwelcome.

And so . . . I think the outdoors are beckoning. Or perhaps the mall, the bookstore, or the coffee shop. Maybe I can talk her into doing a little knitting if no one else is around.

Projects and cleaning? They’ve waited this long.

A week with dear daughter number one–the daughter who isn’t the “squeaky wheel,” the independent daughter who rarely asks for anything?


The beach is calling . . .

Till next we meet . . .


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