Chocolate is not candy

A and I are feeling more at peace. Accepting towards reality. Less shocked. More puzzled, but we have some answers. 

And we have amazing family. Extended family. Lovely friends. They nurture us and have nurtured us. How else could we be such an amazing family? We thrive off of you all, we cherish every minute we spend with you all.

Yes, we are still waiting for tomorrow, but what can we do?  We’ve done the anxious, we’ve done the turning on each other, we’ve done the pure-raw-scared-terrified reactions.

And while those were necessary, they weren’t sufficient to sustain us.

So we band together and remember that we’re in this together. We enjoy our time together. We have fun. He puts on some horrid crap (i.e., a John Mayer concery) on television and I wrestle the remote away from him.  Give me the musiK of the Weather Channel any day over John Mayer (if you like him and are reading this, I do not mean to offend you. Only Mr. Mayer.)  We play hide and seek with C, who loves to announce to you, “I’m gonna hide here, okay?”

While she’s hiding and we pretend not to know where she is, you can hear her little giggle. It’s hilarious in part because my sister, when we were little, would do the exact same thing.

We have “jam sessions”. These involve A playing guitar, C on her pink piano, and I’m usually relegated to tambourine, although I’ve been getting the lap harp more recently (thank goodness!)  C belts out some of the best songs. “My birthday is over, but it’s not yours too!” was her first composition. It was sung very nicely, not a nanny-nanny-poo-poo sort of way, but very matter-of-fact. I suppose it’s just another way of saying “It’s not either of our birthdays, which is a bummer because I want cake.”

The other night, as I was prepping dinner, C announced, “if you eat too much candy, your tummy hurts and you maybe have to go to the doctor because you’re sick.”

”That’s right,” I said.

”But, chocolate isn’t candy. May I please have some chocolate?”  

And I, being the parent I am, did not flat out refuse her. I knelt down and said, “Prove to me that chocolate isn’t candy.”

She looked very thoughtful. “Um…” she stalled, thinking furiously.

“Because it’s chocolate.”

Scary, she’s (logically speaking) kind of on the right path there.

Still, she did not have chocolate. She decided cheese and crackers sounded better.