Marley's Library Card.

We made a special family trip to the library a few days ago, and Marley wore her new favorite dress, for I think the second day in a row. And here's why. It was the celebratory culmination of a promise I made to Marley: that once she could write her entire name (by herself) and read a whole book (by herself), then she could get her very own library card.

Marley's been recognizing wee words for a while, and she's always attentive during storytime, checking out and commenting on the pictures and then, more recently, attempting to sound out words herself when the narrative isn't too long. I think what happened to her in the last month is the same thing that happened to me when I was little. She just started recognizing more and more words, and then she continued to make connections between the words and the sounds their letters make, and then she applied those connections to unfamiliar words, and what do you know? She's reading Green Eggs and Ham and Everywhere Babies to her little sister, and buying me precious moments to apply bronzer or wipe down the kitchen counters or write out (again) the babysitting schedule for field hockey season. (Which starts in three days! And I'm the head coach this year! Which makes me feel frenzied!) I have a dreamy little smile when I watch (and listen) to Marley reading out loud, mostly because I'm proud and it's so sweet to hear, but also because I'm so happy that reading just clicked for her. I would hate for reading to be a struggle or a chore for my kids; I honestly wouldn't know where to go with that, at least at first. I'm a nerdily nerd who was always reading when I was young, and I ended up a high school English teacher. I realize that there is plenty of time for things to change as far as the relationship between my children and books goes, but I am surprisingly living in the moment on this one.

As for the form-filling-out, Marley's been writing her first name all year in preschool, and a week or so ago, Todd and his brother helped her memorize the letters in her last name, and as a precautionary run-through, she printed out her full name twice at the kitchen table before we left for the library. After we confirmed that she had mastered her second requirement, we were off.

The librarian on duty was a friendly lady who knows us from lap time and story time and summer reading, and thankfully not the curmudgeonly older gentleman who sometimes grumps around while restocking the shelves with picture books. She was, in my opinion, adequately excited for Marley at reaching this milestone, and when we finally brought our pile of books up to the counter, she asked Marley whether she had a card (after giving it to her twenty minutes earlier) just so Beanie could feel important when handing it over.

And partly because I wanted this occasion to be a big one, and partly because I am always ready for ice cream, we followed up our library times with congratulatory ice cream, enjoyed outside on a warm summer day at the newest Kimball's Farm about fifteen minutes away. Todd slurped on a frappe, and Marley got a chocolate chip junior sundae that she graciously shared with Rudy, and I got a giant, overflowing cup of vanilla caramel swirl.

And after a while, the frappe was gone and Rudy wasn't interested in another half-spoonful of Bean's ice cream. She was lurching and orbiting around our picnic table while talking and singing nonsense to herself, and then Marley started wiggling and announced that she had to go potty. Todd got up to escort her, and as they started walking across the parking lot, Rudy waddled after them. Todd was all, "No, Rudy. Stay with Mommy!" in the chirpy voice that's supposed to help kids think what you're telling them to do is fun. And she was all, "Nooooo." So I watched this for a couple of minutes while licking my spoon, and then casually suggested, "Why don't you take her with you?" Todd said no, and then I added, still in this whatever-sort-of-monotone (the ice cream was relaxing me), "What do you think I do every stinking day?" And then when I looked at the picnic table next to us, I saw two women who were hurrumphing and nodding on my behalf, and they were smiling and giving me thumbs-up. And I shrugged at them, like, "No kidding, huh?"

Todd took Marley and Rudy to the potty, I got to enjoy the rest of my deliciousness in solitude, and this summer, I have managed to enjoy a few lazy, happy moments like that one. More often, the moments are with my girls and Todd. I am, let's face it, rarely alone. And these moments are, of course, in between worrying about the start of field hockey, specifically preseason; the budget that Todd and I are desperately trying to maintain; the washing machine that keeps shutting down just before the rinse cycle, requiring me to do this frantic thing with the knob to get it going again (and wondering if a new washing machine will ruin our budget); and the start of school and and dance and gymnastics and the latest series of doctors' appointments for my mom and my kids; and also, the evaluation I scheduled with Early Intervention to see if Rudy's eligible for some physical therapy since she stumbles often and falls down several times a day on her little bowed legs. Ice cream helps. But it's also probably why after about eight weeks of boot camp three times a week, I actually gained a few pounds. Unless the extra weight is muscle, which is what I'm optimistically telling myself until the trainers' body fat calculations are emailed out any day now. I'll let you know. My stance has always been: exercise, and then you can eat the ice cream, rather than doing without. I can do extra push-ups or keep up my sad little Tabata speed for longer if I must; I cannot not have ice cream.