Halloween

Iris proving that a drinking fountain can be a full-body experience.

Everything is a full-body experience for Sybil too: eating, playing, and especially smiling.

Iris won the school Halloween costume contest: cutest. Claire was also an angel

Elijah repetitively thrust his bloody dagger at the judges as a zombie doctor.

Sybil was a pirate.

Dia de Muertos parade at school

Mary Poppins play. I was surprised at how good it was.

See you on the other side of China.
Toodles.

CONGRATULATIONS!

I have a vision of my kids in 10 or 20 years finishing a marathon, getting a promotion, walking on Jupiter, or winning a competitive eating contest (the latter being a more unrealistic vision). Someone approaches them at this epic moment of their lives and utters a magical word: "CONGRATULATIONS!"
After which, my adult child breaks the nose of the well-meaning well-wisher.
This weekend Iris exclaimed that this was her least favorite word; in fact she hates it. You see, in my children's vocabulary, "congratulations" means, "I don't care about what you just said and I'm not going to do a darn thing about it."
Whaaaaaa? You may ask.

Here are a few examples:

1) We are in the car and they have told me at least 100 times that they are thirsty.  And I have responded 100 times that I don't have anything to offer them besides my own saliva.
#101: "Mom, I'm really thirsty."
CONGRATULATIONS!

2) "Mom, Elijah [or Claire or Iris] called me a baby!"
CONGRATULATIONS!

3) "Mom, I really don't want to clean my room."
CONGRATULATIONS!

4) Mom, I'm too sick to go to school today because I don't want to go."
CONGRATULATIONS!

5) "Mom, it just isn't fair!"
CONGRATULATIONS!

I must admit, sympathy has never been one of my strong suits. But my kids will be the first to admit that I always recognize praiseworthy accomplishments.