Gigi got her first report card today.
She was so excited to hand it to me, she didn’t even want me to wait to drive home to open it. Lulu snatched it and offered to rip it open while I drove. Always a helper that one.
I came in and sat my purse, our grocery bag, lunch boxes and backpacks on the counter and Gigi jumped around like a bean, shouting, “Open it, Mom! Open it, Mom!”
And then a little more quietly, “I hope I get all good marks,” and she looked down at her tennis shoes, hiding her face behind a wall of curls.
I took a moment to put away the refrigerated foods and to get the girls a snack, mostly to show Gigi that while I too was excited for her, it wasn’t the be all and end all of the day what “marks” she got.
Finally, I’d made her wait long enough and I ripped at the yellow manila that seemed far thicker than I remembered. I should have taken Lulu up on her offer while I had the chance.
I opened up the white, almost transparent paper that had a grid of letters and numbers on it, spelling out exactly how Gigi’s teacher felt she measured up in these first few weeks of school.
I looked down the page, praising her marks in reading, her marks in math, in writing and even PE. But Gigi’s little finger traced down the page, as if she was searching for something.
And then her finger stopped on her one and only grade that was merely ‘S,’ Satisfactory, right next to “Completes work neatly.”
She gulped and looked down at her shoes. Her lip began to quiver.
“Gigi,” I said, feeling anxious for her,”what is it? This is a wonderful report card! You did fantastic and we are so proud of you!”
“I just wish I hadn’t gotten that ‘S’,” she said silently, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m going to go look at this now,” she quickly said, picking up the paper and settling into a chair in the living room to study what she saw as the measuring stick from which she should determine her value.
I wasn’t having it.
I walked into the living room and snatched the paper from her hands, put it back in its torn envelope and stuck it in the junk drawer in the kitchen. Then I got down at her eye level and gave her a hug and told her the words I want to tell her every day for the rest of her life.
The words we all need to hear.
A piece of paper, a number, a letter says nothing about who you are.
You are loved more than you could ever know for so much more than that.
You are loved for being the one to remember to say grace at dinner every night.
You are loved for always letting your sister use the purple crayon even if you had it first.
You are loved for asking if we can all huddle on the couch under a blanket and read pickle stories together since it is National Pickle Day.
You are loved for your off-key voice singing creative lyrics, for jump roping down the hallway—without a jump rope, for the way you admire yourself in the bathroom mirror, smiling toothlessly at your reflection when you think no one is looking.
You are loved because you have a light that you share with every person that comes in contact with you.
And really, no piece of paper, no number, no letter could ever say that.
But I promise to tell you every chance I get.
You are loved.
Happy National Pickle Day!
Happy I Took Nyquil At 8 pm and Slept Until 8 am Day!*
Happy Pumpkin Pie For Breakfast Day!*
*may not be actual holidays
As shiteous as I feel, I couldn’t let the day go by without honoring pickles and everyone’s favorite pickle fiend.
(I realize using the word “shiteous” costs me a dollar. It’s worth it.)
So I’m revamping my post for Pickle Soup from almost exactly a year ago. Generally when I repeat or slightly improve a recipe, I’ll update the commentary as well as the photos.
But this post was so poetically craptastic, I had to leave well enough alone.
Lulu’s now sick, it’s worse than you think,
She was up all night, slept nary a wink.
A sniff and a cough, a fever, some moanin,’
‘Twas Pea Daddy’s problem, I took melatonin.
This morning she woke up, her throat had a tickle,
She needed some soup, she wanted a pickle!
Pickles can heal, pickles stop tears,
Eat one with a friend, raise a pickle in, “Cheers!”
I looked outside to the cold, cloudy and raining.
Lulu laid on the couch, her sinuses draining,
I had inspiration, to uplift Lu’s soul,
Something delicious with dill in her bowl.
I grabbed my sous chef, some paper and pen,
sat down to create a winner again!
Gigi wrote too, now don’t think me a jerk,
Her penmanship’s fine,
But her spelling needs work.
Pickle Soup
Serves 4
- 2 carrots, chopped
- 1/2 an onion, chopped
- 2 t. garlic salt
- 1/2 t. dried dill weed
- 1/2 t. curry powder
- 2 t. organic sugar or stevia equivalent
- 1 c. red lentils, drained and rinsed
- 4 c. vegetable stock
- 1 c. frozen peas
- 1/3 c. dill pickles, chopped
- 2-3 T. dill pickle juice
- 1 1/2 t. vegan Worcestershire sauce
- salt and cracked black pepper, to taste
Place a medium stockpot over medium high heat. Add carrot and onion and sauté until tender.
Add garlic salt, dill weed, curry powder and sugar and sauté for an additional minute.
Add lentils and vegetable broth and bring to a boil.
Lower heat and simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until lentils are soft.
Add peas, chopped pickles, Worcestershire sauce and pickle juice.
Heat through. Adjust seasoning and serve. With or without pickles.
Lulu happily slurped up bite after bite,
searching for pickles, I guess that’s her right.
For tonight I was glad to please someone so fickle,
I’ll pay for it tomorrow.
We’re now out of pickles.
*************
Other Pickle Posts:
Tickled By Pickles (Dill Pickle French Fries)
Build Your Own Wacky Wednesday (The Return of Bah Bah Pickle Pickle)
Wacky Wednesday: Flipped Out (The Premiere of Bah Bah Pickle Pickle)
