Coffee and C.P.F.D. (Care Package Flashback Disorder)

We are halfway through this month people.  I know it sounds like doing 15 kind things isn't that big of a deal... and you are probably right.  Except that you're not right, you're wrong, and it is a big deal.  And why do you have to be so negative about it anyways?

Here is how I know that it is a big deal.  Today, Harper (5) and London (2) were playing in the yard and they went over to the shed, knocked on the door and shouted "Is anybody home!?  Open up!  We have your kindness!"  My kids are playing kindness!  In the almost nine years that I have been a mom, I have learned that kids often use play to act out what they see happening in their daily lives.  I have seen my kids chastise, feed and rock their baby dolls, and put their "awesome football guy" in a time out, and London has covered her stuffed animals' eyes with their little fluffy paws so she can have "pwivatesy" in the bathroom.  They play what they live... and I think it is a big deal that they are playing kindness.

Then again, their random act of kindness was delivering three shovels to the empty shed... which was even worse than offending those ladies at the bus stop with all the delicious donuts.  Harper and London got about as much eye contact from the shed as I got from those ladies.

So, Day 15, the halfway point.  I bought coffee and delivered it to the wonderful teachers who get to shape and teach my two precious girls everyday.  Annalee had gotten the inside scoop (not so subtly) on her teachers' dream coffee.  The two little ones and I delivered those coffees first.  The teachers had been following along on the blog, so they already knew about the 31 days.

Problem #1:  If your children's teachers are reading your personal blog, then they know that you are a crazy person.

Problem #2:  If your children's teachers are awesome, they will overlook said craziness and invite you to help lead a children's writing workshop.

Problem #3: Said crazy person will likely agree impulsively  though she has absolutely zero credentials or legitimate experience in writing and/or workshopping.  

Next stop was to deliver coffee to Marlie's teacher.

Problem #4:  I do not know how this man takes his coffee.  In fact, I know very little about this man, except what I can get from Marlie which is that "He is a man, and he always has a little chest hair peeking out."  This tidbit was a great image to have, but not helpful in determining his coffee order.

Problem #5:  If said crazy person delivers coffee to a teacher while the kids are in art class, he is likely making copies in the copy room.  This is not the time to say his name, or he may jump and squeal like he was poked in the side with a little spear.

After the yelp, he acknowledged that he scares easy (as do I) and he thanked me genuinely  for the coffee.  When we were leaving the school, Harper asked, "When is it time for our kindness?"  I reminded him that our kindness was bringing coffee to all those teachers.  He clarified that he meant, "when would weeee get a little of that kindness??"  Just as I am finishing the sentence, "I think we are plenty kind to ourselves."  I open the car door directly into London's forehead.  She falls on the ground holding her injured "eye-bow."  Harper looked at me like "That was not exactly what I had in mind."

Since crunching the children with doors was the kindest thing I had done for them... it was a nice surprise to come home to these on my porch:

As I shared previously, my mother sends the worst care packages in history, so this was simultaneously exciting and terrifying.  One package was from my friend Julie, and was full of all these great things for our maybe baby:

And just to drag up all my childhood baggage, my friend Julie threw in this almost used stack of sticky notes:

The other package was from my mother.  The mother of the worst care packages in history.  In case you didn't believe my post about this.  Here is photo evidence:

And if that picture of me in that hat isn't hideous enough, she finally sent gummies. In rat form.

 

So Day 15 was a day of giving and receiving, agreeing to shape the young minds of children at a workshop I am not qualified to be a part of, crunching the baby's head with the car door and eating a rat. All in all, I would say that is a pretty solid halfway point.  I think that my brother would be absolutely delighted that my mother is still terrorizing us via care packages, and I think that this half-month of kindness has been the best way to honor the boy who broke all of her wooden spoons so she couldn't whack him for being irritating.