Our (college) Town

Our Town is a metropolis of a very particular variety: the college town. There are things about living in a college town in the middle west that I wouldn’t give up for the world. I love the small-town atmosphere where folks are friendly but humble, I love the phenomenal bookstores, arts festivals, and food. I love that when we sit down to Sunday brunch, my favorite author in the whole freaking world sits at the table next to mine.

Breathe, Mama. Breathe.

Of course, though I choose to live here (and, in fact, left the nation’s best weather to return), there are things I might prefer to be a little different. Not changed, per se. Just, well, um… modified.

The Kidling being The Kidling, she has observed and inquired about many quirks of life in a college town. I learned just how closely she pays attention when we were talking about a pretty little chair that I was re-homing.

Several years ago, I found a gem of a chair that I intended to reupholster, but I never got around to actually doing it.

Please don’t ask The Dada how many of those chairs we have.

I was telling The Kidling that this particular chair would soon be leaving our home and moving in with a graduate student. She was dubious, to say the least:

“Are they gonna take good care of it? Because you said sometimes grad students put couches on the roof. Are they gonna put chairs on the roof, too?”

I make no guarantees.

 

a sweet tooth (or two)

The Kidling has a couple of loose teeth that have been hanging on for far longer than this first-time mama would have ever expected. So this afternoon, we did a little tooth check, assessing incisors and canines for any indication that they might be ready to call it quits (they are probably tired of listening to all of the yammering). We poked and wiggled, checking each of the potential candidates for dental defection. Content with our assessing of which tooth was most likely to fall out first, The Kidling said with relief, “I’m glad my sweet tooth isn’t loose!”

Somehow, I think she has a few extras.

allergy season

Monday. 6:40 am. The Mama hears the customary three sneezes from upstairs. The Kidling stumbles down the stairs into the bright kitchen. Then:

“I think I might be allergic to light, because I never sneeze in there (points to dark room).”

Bless you.

storm season

Here in the middle west, storm season is approaching. Not that, frankly, it ever isn’t storm season in the middle. We just change the type of storms we are referring to. The approaching storm season I am referring to on this fine, cold afternoon is tornado season.

Twisters.

I can tell you I never, ever, in a million billion zillion years thought I would look forward to tornado season, but here we are. This crappy winter has me questioning my very essence.

Perhaps when my brain defrosts I will have other thoughts.

So when The Kidling mentioned tornadoes the other day and suggested that we don’t need to worry about tornadoes here in the middle, I told her that, in fact, we do. Truth be told, the spring after The Kidling was born was a particularly tornado-y one.

No, tornado-y is not a word.

No, I do not care.

I told The Kidling that we had many, many tornado watches and warnings when she was an infant.*  In this basement-less home,** The Dada and I spent a lot of time in the only room on the first floor of the house that didn’t have windows: the world’s tiniest bathroom. We hustled down there with blankets and toys on myriad occasions to wait out the weather.

Not.

Fun.

But when I relayed this story to The Kidling, she was delighted. Before I had a chance to wonder why, she exclaimed, “Thanks for keeping me alive!”

Kidling, it was the least we could do.

_________

* Does anyone actually know which is worse? Like, consistently know? Don’t bother saying yes, because I won’t believe you.
** No, basement-less isn’t a word either. And I still don’t care.