sans les filles

Just us boys today, since the girls are at the office - it's "take your daughter to work" day (really "take your kid..." but the age limit is seven and up).
We got some water balloons and let loose at the park, freely sharing with others.
This three-year-old obviously needed help with his balloons and for some reason - probably via transposition from "Coco" - kept calling me "Poke." Cracked me up every time.

oh, and...

During the nursing of the wound, Coco asked how long it would hurt. "I don't know" is not an acceptable answer* so I said "eighteen minutes" and set the timer. This seemed to help, though after the elapsed time he wasn't quite satisfied with the result and called for an emergency application of extra TV time.

*I learned this often, of course. Most recently when he asked me, "What is the last number?" And I said that numbers are cool in that way because you can always think of one bigger and he just asked again and I asked him if he meant how high can I count. This registered a little; he seemed to think he was getting somewhere with his dense dad. So I said, "The highest anyone could count is up to one hundred and twenty seven. If someone wants to count to one hundred and twenty eight, they can't do it."
This answer satisfied him and we went back to talking about Ben 10 Figures and which ones he wants and why he can't have them but Santa might bring them or he can get them for his birthday...

and again

I was trying to get away from posting about kids, but on their vacations I don't really get away from them much.
So you get to partake of our drama.
Tonight we were cooking. And because one of them cried when the other asked to join in on the fun, we made separate meals. Coco made mine and Madge made theirs. Mine was left-over noodles fried with some butter and onions and garlic. Theirs was "fresh" noodles with creamy red sauce. Yes, our menu is varied: some nights penne, some gemelli, occasionally farfalle...
Anyway, I was directing traffic when Coco decided to turn around and watch Madge, briefly resting his wrist on the frying pan. ... His attention was drawn to Madge because she had just dropped some noodles on the floor and was trying not to burst out in tears - she actually excused herself, saying, "I'm going in your room because I need a moment." This would have been hilarious if it hadn't followed on the heel of other highly emotional moments strategically placed throughout the afternoon. ... And it would have been funnier if he hadn't burned his wrist, of course.
So the rest of the evening was spent nursing a wound that the patient didn't want touched or looked at.
Julie tends to call in the middle of moments like this, but luckily for her and us, she had called about fifteen minutes before.

Coco Tuesday

Coco may have allergies or is just sensitive to pollen in the air - I'm not sure where one draws the distinction nowadays. He keeps rubbing his eyes and asking if they are red, which is better than what he was asking at first, namely, "Are my eyes still in?"
eek.

And the other day, when laying on the couch with Julie, he said, "Why are they called pillows? They should be called 'softers'."
right he is

Madge Monday

One of the reasons I do this bloggy thing is to remind myself that the kids are fun.
As, for instance, this weekend. Madge was lounging in our bed with Julie, reading and eating Ritz.
Now, I'm not averse to messes, but I'm a bit of a crumbophobe and both girls know it.
So I came in, saw what they were doing, got bug-eyed - in a silly way, I hope - and ran for the dustbuster to take care of matters. When I came back with my weapon in hand, Madge looked at me, giggled, and crushed a cracker over my pillow.
I love that kid.

Coco Special

The girls were getting their nails done, so Coco and I did man's business - getting groceries and watching a movie.
During our wanderings I was imparting some life lessons, so we had this conversation:

Me: Okay, so scissors cut paper, but paper covers rock, and rock breaks scissors.
Coco: What about laser guns?

Manipulation

Coco has become quite skilled.
He got a notepad in a birthday goody-bag and was writing in it. Madge asked him what he was writing and he said, "It says, 'I love Madeleine because she lets me play her Nintendo DS.' [pause] Madeleine, can I play your Nintendo DS?"

And yes, they say, "play Nintendo DS" without an interstitial preposition (on, or with) - as if it were a musical instrument.

Coco Tuesday

Reason number whatever why kids are cute.
I got a DVD in the mail today, Romero Lubambo showing and playing Bossa Nova progressions - the stuff I've been sweating over at home.
The kids saw it and said, "You're much better, Daddy."
See?
Now, I know they're really saying, "An unampified guitar in the room sound much better than a TV's speakers."
But they're also saying, "We love you." And that just rocks.

The guitarist here, btw. is Lubambo.

Madge Monday

Poor Madge. First she didn't get to have her playdate yesterday because her friend was being punished and then she was actually sick today. More or less. Fever. Cough. Aches. Nothing major, though. So we got on one another's nerves and watched a lot TV and got frustrated with Coco together, mostly because he was getting antsy in the apartment.
Madge is rather cute when sick, though, because she is a little subdued and more willing to be cuddled.

It's weird how kids grow. They sometimes sit together on the couch, watching TV, huddled under a blanket. Now, though, when Madge moves too much, Coco falls to the floor. And, when I'm especially lucky, spills the popcorn.

offputting vocabulary

I was listening to the NYTimes book podcast again and they had a guy on who repeatedly used the word "heretofore." Not an incentive to buy the book, really, if the guy uses archaic and snooty language.
But henceforth I'll be integrating heretofore and forthwith into my speech.
I'm sure it'll get the kids to brush their teeth more promptly.

behind

It's happening again. The weather is turning nicer so I'm trying to eat less and as a result I'm tired and cranky all the time.
I should resign myself to the fact that jolly suits me better than skinny bitch. Not that I've ever been skinny, but I sure excel in the other part.
Ick.

a dip in the past

Riding in the car with my dad in Berlin.
Listening to Bob Marley.
Explaining that Bob Marley is not saying that he's German and he hopes you like Germans, too.
(To be fair, I think my dad was 70% kidding, 30% serious.)

Coco Tuesday

Today we had the (hopefully) last installment of fillings. Yippee.
So of course we topped it off with toy shopping, which went fairly smoothly, too.
We got something we've been pining for ever since we've seen the delightful ads.
And now I know why the little singsongy slogan is as it is.

Moonsand, moonsand, sand that you can mold!
[Though we used to say "sand that you can move" or "moon," depending]

It's like that because

Moonsand, moonsand, sand that you can grind into the carpet and blow out your vacuum cleaner while trying to keep the cat from poisoning himself on it!

doesn't scan.

Madge Monday

I was noodling around on the guitar the other day, still trying to figure out what to play for Coco's class if they can ever decide on a day. I was plunking out the different Willie Nelson songs I know (on guitar - so far) and asked Madge which was her favorite: Sad Songs and Waltzes (Aren't Selling This Year), Undo the Right, or A Moment Isn't Very Long. (The only song among these that has more than I-IV-V chords is Sad Songs And Waltzes, which has V/V. Ooooh.)
Guess which one is her favorite.
Hint: It's the one that reveals most about her personality.
Yup.

If you can’t say you love me
Say you hate me
And that you regret each time you held me tight
If you can’t be mine forever
Then forsake me
If you can’t undo the wrong, undo the right

It was right when you
Loved me only
And wrong when you held another tight
So before you go away
And leave me lonely:
If you can’t undo the wrong, undo the right

It’s too late to say your heart is filled with sorrow
You can’t undo what’s done, why do you try
So please help me to face
The new tomorrows
If you can’t undo the wrong, undo the right.

You tell 'em, sister

Oh, jeez. Okay. Really.
If you're at work and have a bottle of bourbon handy, pour yourself some, maybe with a few ice cubes. Clink them around and sit back and enjoy.
Sharon Jones and the Dap-Tones.
Just to get you in the mood, here's the refrain:

100 days, 100 nights to know a man's heart.
100 days, 100 nights to know a man's heart.
And a little more
before
he knows his own.





(I should learn to play the song and re-title it, "Sorry 'bout That.")

PALP

That's short for Parents As Learning Partners. Once a month, the professionals get tired of having a full day of kids and bring in the amateurs who send the kids to school for a little break in their schedule in the first place. It's a win-win.
Wait.
Anyway, we went to Madge's class. And the work they were showing off was awesome. Books about their families. What better way to snoop into other people's private matters than through a lens that doesn't have much of a privacy filter and says almost anything for attention. But I get the feeling that the teachers censored stuff. Nothing about "Mommy likes to burn me with the iron if I forget to put the onion in her Gibson" or things like that.
Other cute items, though. One was clearly (or not so clearly, but that's the mood I'm in) a pre-rehearsed joke. It was something like, "My mom teaches third grade but she's smart enough to teach fifth." It was too well worded to be genuine. And a third grader is a little old for that limited perspective, I think. But, oh well. Still made me smile.
And a friend's kid wrote that if his family were a letter it would be C. At first I thought, "What a lousy grade, but kudos for your realism," but then I read on. It stood for cool, some other c-word (No! not that one!) like courageous, and comely. And I thought, "Wow, what a big word for a young kid." But on closer inspection it turned out that his "d"s were a straight line with a tiny squiggle on the bottom and the word was actually comedy.
For what it's worth, I do think this kid knows the word "comely" but just wouldn't use it to describe his family - though of course they are.
Anyway. I would have loved to snoop in more kids' businesses, but Coco was extremely clingy. First, he hates crowds - unfamiliar crowds, that is. Second, he gets shy around cute blondes and therefore always clings to the seat of my pants when Madge's teacher shows up.
Why the seat of my pants is something for him and his therapist to work out, I won't go near it.
There you go.

Exciting

Now my unique job has become more unique. I'm not only the only limericist for public radio, but the only one for a Peabody-Award-winning show.
That's right. "Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me!" won an award. Yay, them (us, I mean).
I just hope they don't make me rhyme with Peabody this week.

The other post of the day

Ah, yes, now I remember.
I had set up a makeshift neck-breaker in the living room: several pillows in a slant leading from the sofa to the floor, covered in a blanket, which they proceded to tumble down. And shout - let's not forget that things are always more fun with noise. Everything was running smoothly, so I went off to the kids' bedroom to practice guitar.
Several minutes later, Coco comes in holding an ice-cube to his eye and a cold-pack to his head, saying, "Daddy, I fell."
A huge wave of "Oh, shit"-guilt built up inside me and just as it was about to come crashing down in a bunch of hugs and sorrys and I-told-you-to-be-carefuls, he followed with, "April fool, dahahahaha, dahahahaha."
The "dahahahaha" is from SpongeBob, who introduced Coco to the concept. Then there was a bunch of laughter from the hallway, from the instigator.
Those kids are good.

Coco Tuesday

Am I pushing the kids too much too soon?
You be the judge.
I got a size 3 soccer ball because they expressed an interest in playing soccer and I could tell that a full-sized (size 5, in case you care) ball would be too big.
We were playing today and I was fairly far away from them (with the ball). So I said, "Who wants the ball at their head?"
Knowing, of course, that few joys are as great as pushing down a header in just the right way.
And I was really excited, too, when Coco looked up. So I let the ball sail at him, and it was beautiful. A lovely banana curve right at his noggin.
Unfortunately I hadn't taught him about using the forhead and pushing it down and all that lovely stuff. I thought it was instinct.
But no. Instinct is getting smacked in the face (on the cheek that had only a few hours before recuperated from novocaine) and crying and coming at daddy with claws and spitting and finally throwing the ball at daddy over and over again.
Luckily, he's not the grudge-bearing child.

Another wasted comeback

Not wasted entirely because Julie was around to hear it.
Coco was up too late and wound up cranky and feisty and whiny. After tooth brushing he insisted on getting a dollar for the good (non)job he did.
I said no.
He said that he doesn't love me anymore.
I said it's too bad his love can be bought for a dollar.
Julie laughed and I had to, too.

I gave Julie a dollar.*


*(This part is made up, but sounds good, no?)

Madge Monday

We took the cat to the vet today for his annual booster shots. Madge had me reschedule the appointment so she (and Coco) could come along.
For moral support, they both stuck their heads under my coat as soon as the syringe came out and then were both surprised that it was over without any hissing or meowing or scratches or blood. Then they both almost smothered the poor traumatized kitty on the way home.
The best part:
When the vet and his assistant were done handling the cat, Baci had shed a lot. Madge, in her playful way, started blowing the hairs all over the stainless steel office. She thought it was funny, the cat and the boy didn't care, I thought it was rather cute.
The doctor said, "Please don't do that. I'm allergic to cat hair."
Of course I burst out laughing for what could it be other than a joke.
Turns out it wasn't. The guy had made an unfortunate career choice. (The allergy didn't crop up until a few years into his practice.)
After he told me and I stopped chuckling I stared at him incredulously, not knowing how to ask why he's still a vet.
It's like the story I heard on "Wait, Wait..." about the firefighter who was going through EMT training and kept fainting at the sight of a needle.
Then the doctor said, "At least I'm not allergic to dogs."
Half full, I guess.

Frickin' Nuts (Frick the third)

I came into a hallway and saw this guy. His face - if not the face, then at least the expression - looked familiar and the background green was compelling, so I typed in the number and started to listen. His name is Ludovico Capponi, but it sounded like Capone when the guide said it, so I wanted to know if they might be distantly related. Not really. At least not more so than any two countrymen hundreds of years apart with a similar last name. (Goethe - Goedi; who am I kidding.)
Anyway. I was merrily listening along when I gag. Out loud. Gack! See, the thing I noticed late was just about eye-, if not mouth- , level. So I frantically listenedlistenedlistened and found out it's a CODPIECE (everyone back in their seats, nothing to see here). And that nineteenth-century prudes had painted over it.
hm.

Paine

Back in high school, I wrote a paper on Thomas Paine. I believe the reason I chose him was that his first name is the same as my middle one. As good a reason as any at that point in my life.
I wrote a paper on him, but never read a word of his writing. Thanks to HBO's miniseries on John Adams (guess the title), I went ahead and got some of his (Paine's) stuff from the library. Great stuff.
Common Sense opens like this (this is the second sentence):

Society is produced by our wants, and government by our wickedness; the former promotes our happiness positively by uniting our affections, the latter negatively by restraining our vices.

In other words: We have society because we don't do well on our own, and we have government because we don't do good in groups.

Coco Tuesday

I’m glad I didn’t write this up yesterday because, like Madge, it takes me a while to get over a grudge. Coco is more like Julie: the storms unleash forcefully and quickly, but subside shortly thereafter. If we could only combine the long fuse with the quick calm, but no dice.
Yesterday’s tempest arose from a gift certificate we had received (thanks, Yiayia and GrandJohn). We let the kids choose their treats. Madge opted for a surprise Barbie Nintendo DS cartridge. Coco sweated over eliminating some of the Ben Ten figures he had chosen. He sweated over it so much he couldn’t do it. And the rest of the day he and I fought about my order.
Here are some aspects of our “learning experience”:
If an item is no longer manufactured or available from some distributors, those who still have a copy show no shame in charging $79 (plus $8 shipping) for a $4.99 toy. (“You can have my allowance, Daddy.” Aww. But no.)
It takes some time for the people to read the computer screen, find the objects on the shelves, pack them, put them on a truck which goes to another distribution center and another truck – maybe even with a flight in between – and finally to our house. (All Coco heard was, “Blahblahblahblahblah our house.”)
And staying home from school will not speed up this process.
Which is why I had a tearful Coco necklace for twenty minutes at drop-off time. Which, out of a two-hour-and-twenty-minute school day is – but wait, my blood pressure is rising again, I’d better stop.
We’re all better now. He went to school like a trooper today and yesterday at pickup he even explained to me how Grey Matter was too expensive.

Frickin' Ironic (Frick the second)

The Frick has an audio guide that's like a phone/iPod. You type in the number by the piece you wish to have explained and the phone doodad starts talking to you about it.


About this Degas, it said something about Degas painting dancers blah blah. Then it said that the old violinist was the most real-looking thing in the painting, while the dancers looked doll-like and manipulated. Then it said something about this being one of the very few painting that Frick leant out, in this case to a fundraiser for the Women's Suffrage movement.


I have a feeling he had a twisted sense of humor.


To sum up:


old white man - real and creative and in control


women - puppets and mechanical and in the background

picture loaned to woman's suffrage fundraiser





hm.

Madge Monday

Good Friday. The kids were off from school. We happened to be walking by a church on the way to the grocery store and Madge asked – are you ready? – “Does perfect exist?”
The answer I was aiming for way, “Only if Existence is a condition of Perfection.” But I realized that might be aiming a little high, even for our eight-and-a-half-year-old.
So I stammered for a while and said that the idea of perfection exists, since the word exists. And then I said something about being able to imagine a perfect circle and that we as imperfect beings are probably unable to be judges of perfection and that this is where the idea of divinity comes in.
Madge, sweet thing, didn’t even try to change the subject while I was rambling.
And Coco was busy balancing on some raised bricks.

Frick (the first)

I didn't teach yesterday because of the holiday. But Madge enjoys a day without me and encoureaged me to leave the house anyway. Done and done.
Where to?
I mosied over to Manhattan to see if I could play chess in Washington Square Park after a couple of Papaya King hot dogs. No beans, the place is under construction (the park, not the hot dog place). And I didn't feel like sneaking into the Marshall Chess Club.
So I figured, "What else can you do without kids?" Answer: Museum.
I hopped on another Subway and encountered huge crowds around Central Park. Duh. Easter Parade had finished. No problem. I wanderd up Fifth Ave - a lovely day, by the way - and saw this neoclassical building and figured, "Whoa, I wonder what ambassador lives there." So I crossed the Avenue and looked at the sign.
Frick Collection. Hours blah blah. Children Under 10 Not Admitted.
And boom! I went in. What a selling point.

transcriptive powers

One of the reasons I picked up guitar - other than to play music again in a way that doesn't bother the neighbors, only my family - was to play bossa nova. So I recently discover bootleg YouTube music videos. I figured I could use it to stare at the player's fingers and go from there, but the *&%$^!! cameraperson keeps cutting away at crucial moments. There are two chords in particular of which I've figured out the flavor (more or less) but not the inversion.
But by now I am really good at gently shaking my head and wrinkling my forehead in particularly expressive sections. Give it a listen. It's Joao Gilberto doing "Estate" - an Italian song from a movie I haven't seen.

revisionist history

I had a guitar lesson today, squeezed in the few hours Coco is in school. Because of the timing I brought the guitar to the dropoff and was promptly asked by the teachers if I'd play for class. Lamplight hog that I am, I said, "Sure." Maybe I'll play the kid favorite, the B Major scale. They'll love it. Or, "This is a little ditty I call 'tuning the guitar.'"
But I figured maybe I'll learn "Puff, the Magic Dragon," since the Willie Nelson songs I know are probably over their heads. I might just do Moe Bandy's "It was always so easy to find an unhappy woman (till I started looking for mine)." It'll make them drown their sorrows in their juice boxes. Or, since I'm just kind of musing along as I type, take some Country songs about drinking and just put in "box" for "glass." I might be on to something there.
Anyway, the post's title refers to my memory. I have fond, happy memories of the song, "Puff." I also did of the movie "Roman Holiday." For some reason I think I just forgot the endings of both. I'll refresh yours for "Puff."

A dragon lives forever,
but not so, little boys.
Painted wings and giant strings
make way for other toys.

One gray night it happened:
Jackie Paper came no more,
and Puff, that mighty dragon,
he ceased his fearless roar.

His head was bent in sorrow,
green scales fell like rain,
Puff no longer went to play
upon the cherry lane.

Without his lifelong friend
Puff could not be brave
so Puff that mighty dragon
sadly slipped into his cave.

[Everybody (sniff, sniff): Puff, the magic dragon, lived...]


I'm not sure I can do it without choking up. Really.

Back to "Sad Song and Waltzes (Aren't Selling This Year)."

more reads

Somehow I forgot to post last night, in the middle of limericity.
Oh, well. Here's a poem I ran across recently - in the collection I found on the street:

Shake and shake
The catsup bottle.
None'll come -
And then a lot'll.

It's by Richard Armour. Remind me to look him up later*.
The title is great, too. It's "Going to Extremes."

Done.

Twain

I'm trying to avoid a punny title like "Twain is meet" so I'm sticking it here.

With Julie out of town I read more and am making some good progress on my pilgrimage with the innocents, abroad.

In a very circuitous way, I was reminded to look at a short story of his, where I found this line:

No real gentleman will tell the naked truth in the presence of ladies.

Hee, hee. All over the place, you find hee, hee in his writing.
So I was surprised to find him use a "lightning bug" word in The Innocents Abroad. If I weren't teaching the SAT course, I would bother posting about it, but I might bring it in to class.

About eighteen or nineteen hundred years ago, Saul, a native of Tarsus, was particularly bitter against he new sect called Christians, and he left Jerusalem and started across the country on a furious crusade against them.

See, it's the word "crusade." Unless you're a Christian of some ilk or stripe or wood or whatever you can't really be on a crusade, can you?
Oh, well. It's still a great read.

Coco Tuesday

Part two of the dentistry adventure is over and now it's up to Coco whether we'll have a part four or whether part three will just be an extended adventure. This time, he told me, he didn't want to cry and therefore he didn't.
Having seen two procedures up close now, I'm fairly confident I can just do this at home with a Dremel tool kit. Father's Day has to happen sometime, right? So why not get crafty.
Coco gets to watch a movie of his choice when he's there, which is really a joke because his eyes are closed most of the time and between the constant chatter of the dentist and the occasional grunt from Coco and giggle from the assistant at a wisecrack from Daddy, there's not much to get.
I suggested that the dentist carry Marathon Man, but nobody got the reference. Oh, well.
Coco is a convert to daily brushing and flossing, though, so that's one benefit.

Madge Monday

I dare you to read this wihout scratching your scalp.

The third grade has an instance of lice.

See, your scalp is tingling already, isn't it?

Madge came home with instructions on how to find and treat/combat head lice. Fun stuff. Honestly, though, poor kid who has it. Another half a year with the therapist.

fun read

Mark Twain's The Innocents Abroad.
In my strange Wiki-knowledge I think I remember that it is his first big seller, the book that established him as a public figure. Since it sounds plausible, I'll go with that.
Essentially its a story of what is now called "ugly Americans," but it is funny enough that one might forgive them. Here is an example:

We are camped near Temnin-el-Foka -- a name which the boys have simplified a good deal, for the sake of convenience in spelling. They call it Jacksonville. It sounds a little strangely, here in the Valley of Lebanon, but it has the merit of being easier to remember than the Arabic name.

When I read it yesterday, I snorted a little, out loud, on the train. Admittedly, I was tired and my defenses were down, but I still contend that the book as a whole is very amusing. And even, at times, informative.

parent-teacher talks

We had our summit conferences today. Turns out we're all more or less on the same page. The teachers seem to think the kids are great. So we've got them fooled so far.
See, the system of segregating "home words" from "school words" works.
At least something does.

Finally it's not me

On the way to school I overheard an irate kid and exasperated mom.
She obviously told him something he couldn't grasp and she didn't have the time to explain just before drop-off.
Here's what I heard.
Mom: No, honey it has a "d." It's a card. It's hard to explain.
Kid: No it's not. You said race car. YOU SAID RACE CAR!

Coco Tuesday

Oh, man.

We went to the dentist last week for a cleaning and a checkup. The dentist found a cavity in one of Coco's teeth and Coco and I went back today for an x-ray and a filling.

Well. The x-ray revealed not one, but eight cavities.

Eight.

We really need to have health insurance cover bribery as well, this is going to cost me a fortune in toys. Not to mention the jealousy toys for the big sister, who is starting to think that a few cavities might not be so bad, considering the payoff (buyout?).

Madge Monday

In parenting it can sometimes help to have broken a leg twice, broken a thumb, torn a ligament and gone through various other physical mishaps. For example, when Madge said, "How do you know my foot's not broken?" I could calmly and knowledgeably respond, "Because you can stand on it without yelping."

And yet

I let her stay home today as long as she kept her foot up.

Not Nice

And yet I can't help but chuckle when I think about it.

One of Coco's friends recently got a scooter. He was riding it at the playground, down the sloping path. It was getting late and the mom was caught in the danger zone of a tired, obsessed kid. Any mention of home would make him crankier and crankier and yet everyone except the kid knows that tiredness+crankiness=lessened coordination. The inevitable happened: he lost balance and slowly tilted more and more and finally fell. No real damage. He was going slow and wearing a helmet. Still, tears and howling were called for, everyone agreed. The mom and I were trying not to chuckle to audibly because we had witnessed the slow-motion horror in the kid's expression.
Harmless enough.
But then. As the kid was howling and running to his mom, it happened. Apparently he was so distraught that he had to run with head tilted back and eyes squinted shut. And, about two steps from his mother's arms, he veered too far and caromed off the park bench.
And now the tears were justified.
As, I venture to say, is my glee.

more kid things

Madge and the other kids in her grade survived their first big math test, one that is needed to promote to the fourth grade. Apparently it was scary enough for some kids to be in tears, others, to lose sleep. Madge was nervous enough to want to sleep in our bed.
She's big now, so I slept on the couch.
Coco is being extra emotional. Tonight, as a reward for the test, we watched the Polanski version of Oliver Twist. At the end, when Fagin is in jail, Coco cried. Turns out he thought Fagin was a better dad to Oliver than the adoptive gentlemen.
Subtle observation.
I'm sure, if you were to research Dickensia (or whatever the academic branch is called) you'd find more than one paper on father figures, and a few discussions on Fagin as idealized father.
It wasn't Coco's first tearful outburst of the day. I think he's getting his first period.

Coco Tuesday

When I picked up Coco he came running out of the class, crying. In between sobs I made out that his best friend's big brother is going to kill him, according to the best friend.
This best friend loves to bring toys to school and then loans them to Coco at the tail end of a playdate. One of these toys was still at our house and, well, the threat or sinister statement or whatever you want to call it was made.
Poor Coco, that he actually believed it. Really. Sobbing. "I don't want to be killed!"
It's cleared up, but I'm not sure he doesn't think the older brother incapable of the act.
(Are there enough negatives in the last sentence?)

Madge extension

Yesterday, though titled Madge Monday, was really Coco-heavy, so here's something to make up for it, as told by Julie:

So how is a parent supposed to respond to a conversation starter like “My shoe fell in the toilet today”?
This was said very matter-of-factly, I might add.
My brilliant response? “Do you need new shoes?”
I didn’t even think to ask how it happened. I’m more concerned with the fact that my daughter seems willing to wear a shoe that fell in a toilet. That her best friend had just peed in.
See, apparently, Madge was kicking at her best friend under the bathroom stall at school today and her shoe just happened to fly off and land in the toilet after her friend was finished. Luckily, her friend is a good sport and fished said shoe out of the toilet. When asked if she had told her teacher what happened, Madge scornfully replied “NO!” as if that were the dumbest question ever. Instead, she simply rinsed the shoe off, dried it with a paper towel and went back to class.
So I guess I should be happy that she’s not a princess and is the smart, resourceful, practical girl she is – but part of me (the part that loves Nordstrom and the shoe department at Saks – well, who wouldn’t love a shoe department so big that it has its own zip code?) keeps thinking, isn’t this a GREAT excuse for a new pair of shoes? Hmmm… I wonder if I can try this at work tomorrow.



The thing that Julie still doesn't understand is: why isn't this girl trying to get at least one new pair of shoes out of this event? If not two in order to have a spare in case it ever happened again.

And, for those interested, here's how it happened. Apparently Madge was doing some karate kicks under the stall door at her friend. Madge's shoe flew off, the friend ducked and... splash. And here's the kicker (so to speak): the FRIEND fished the shoe out of the pee. The friend is obviously a keeper.

Madge Monday

We got to go to the dentist today.
Both kids got a cleaning and a checkup. I got the bill. Something for everyone.
While we were waiting, a kid came in, drinking a can of soda. Gutsy.
Madge enjoys the dentist because the filling she had done was with laughing gas. This dentist does novocaine, so Coco won't be as lucky. There's a soft spot in one of his teeth. Surprise, surprise.
After the dentist visit we went shopping. And, I'm not kidding, this is what the kids put in the basket:
chocolate chip cookies
gummies
sweet pickles
soda
cinnamon bun mix

I managed to talk Coco out of soda. He chose fizzy water instead. We also put back the gummies. But I get the feeling I'm fighting a losing battle.

review-ish

I'm reading this book that the NYTimes recommended quite highly, and I'm not into it. But I want to finish it because Julie skimmed it and then we can both talk about how little we cared about the main character and how contrived (yet without authorial twinkle) the situations were. Too bad.
But
The title, Beginner's Greek, made me realize why I loved the movie The Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen) so much. It's a movie about a Stasi surveillance of a GDR playwright. But the Stasi guy intervenes at certain points and (I'm not giving too much away) the whole reason for the surveillance is so that another Stasi guy can make a less contested play for the playwright's girlfriend. And because of Beginner's Greek, I noticed that the story was very much like a Greek tragedy: a god wants to have sex with a mortal and gets other, lesser gods, to intervene in the mortals' lives, but someone messes with fate with unforseen, not happy (sorry, those of you who haven't seen it yet) consequences.
Rent the movie.
Don't bother with the book, unless you want my copy. I'll be giving it away shortly.

sophistication

I know. But I can't help it. Jerry Lewis makes me laugh, especially when he was completely manic on the Colgate Comedy Hour. The tongue to the teeth while rolling and crossing eyes: good times.
And now, the classic typewriter sketch!

Coco Tuesday

Coco, unlike Madge, wants to read the same book every night for a long time. We just got off a two week stretch of reading Stripes (by David Shannon) and are now on the Froggy books. In his own way, though, he already distinguishes between gimmick-heavy books and more substatial books by calling the Froggy ones comics.
On the other hand, he keeps asking me when the Stripes movie is coming out.
Not to be daunted by his probable disappointment, I think he's ready for a Bill Murray Early Works Festival.
It's actually quite pitiful that the only Bill Murray movie he's seen is Garfield.
(And a bit of Ghostbusters, but don't tell.)

Madge Monday

Coco and I were late picking up Madge from school today. Not much, but enough that she was the last one of her class to still be there. She took it well, though. Aside from the usual barrage of "Where were you, what took you so long, you're late, why are you late?" She was fine.
We were late because the bus we took didn't show up at the usual 2:30, but rather at 2:4something. And it was late because the bus driver was extremely timid, which meant that the rest of the ride we were not gaining any time. There were more than usual passengers at each stop and the time between each stop was... ech.
You know how they say your blood boils? Well that's exactly what it feels like when you're stuck in a situation beyond your control and you know there's nothing you can do about it.
In Berlin, I remember, cars have to yield to a bus pulling out of a bus stop and I'm guessing it's the same here, but this guy let everyone ahead of him.
But what am I going to do with a nervous driver, bus driver no less: tease him? call him names?
So we were late.
On the way to the playdate, on a different bus, I got lectured by the bus driver for not holding Coco's hand and yanking him from the curb as the bus was approaching. He was a bit of a lurchy driver and it really would have been prudent to not have us all head to the bus just because it had stopped near the curb. Apparently he felt the need to jostly his steed a little closer to the actual bus stop sign.
Having some experience with other, especially older, people lecturing me about what to do with my kids, I said, "Thank you, that's a good idea."
Really.
But for some reason that just made him angrier.
And I tried so hard to sound sincere.

update

We couldn't handle being indoors in this awesome weather.
Now I wonder what the readouts look like for going face first down a big snow pile or making a snowman and karate-chopping it to bits or peeing in a snowbank.
In case you're wondering: we put the recording device in a backpack and the leads and mesh hat under a regular hat. He looked like an astronaut with a ponytail of wires going from the "oxygen tank" to the "helmet."
Whee!
We just need to get all the coats dried before it's time to head to the city to get things taken off.

EEG again

Not a big deal, I don't think, in terms of what it might mean; but a big deal, of course, in terms of the effort involved.
We're doing it ("he" is doing it, really, though we're all involved) to learn things - mostly because it's been a year or so since he had one, but also because there've been some falls we haven't been sure of. So far we learned that Madge talks nonstop when she's stressed. We've also learned that Coco can count backwards from nineteen quite accurately and silently. There are nineteen leads attached to his head. While they were being put on, we were trying to keep the mood light by chatting. Every once in a while he'd pipe up with how many were on or how many were left. And each time he was right on the nose.
To top things off, today would be a great day to be outside since it's the first real snow all winter (and it's not likely to last). But the recording device is a bit unwieldy and I think Coco doesn't want to be seen. I have a picture which I can send to you, but, again, I'm not sure he wants it publicized. So feel free to email me if you want to see a little guy with a bunch of wires sticking out of his scalp.

Frank

Smug little bastard, isn't he? But you'd be, too, if you could come up with aphorisms like he did.

Here are a few on gratitude, by the Duc de la Rochefoucauld (pictured).

Gratitude is like commercial good faith: it keeps trade going, and we pay up, not because it is right to settle our account but so that people will be more willing to extend us credit.

Not all those who repay debts of gratitude can flatter themselves that by so doing they are being grateful.

Th deficit in the amount of gratitude we expect for kindnesses done is due to the pride of both the giver and receiver, for they fail to agree upon the value of the kindness.

And, in my opinion the best:

Over-eagerness to repay a debt is in itself a kind of ingratitude.

With that in mind, I'd like to thank all my readers.

Coco Tuesday

Today we had a first. Unexpected. We went to see The Spiderwick Chronicles. It was shaping up to be quite a good movie when we discovered that it was too scary for Coco and we had to leave.
It may have been pretty scary for Madge, too, because she wasn't too upset about going home. And her other choice - that she finish the movie while Coco and I wait in the hallway - didn't please her at all. So we'll try again another day, without the young'un.
And it wasn't the main bad creature that scared him. It was the house creature who seems basically good except when he gets cranky and turns into something green and bad. Maybe that character cut too close to home for Coco.

Madge Monday

She's back into Barbies and it's cute.
She spraypaints their hair and everything. Chats dialogues (which, unfortunately, I can't quite hear) and changes outfits incessantly. Great way to spend this Presidential winter break.

apologies

I can't help it, but I always smirk when I see posters on which teeth have been blackened.
Sorry.

soundtrack

For some reason, I happened to be wearing a tie yesterday in Manhattan.
I don't get into Manhattan much, so I still feel oogly about it. It was breezy and drizzly and I was making my way across the street when my iPod, in its infinite wisdom, swelled with Nelson Riddle strings which introduced Ol' Blue Eyes.
There's something special about Sinatra when your tie is flapping in the wind.

predictable ending

Here's the set-up.
When I take out my contacts, I let the water just dribble into the sink, which makes the cat show up and drink.
Madge loves to be nice to the cat.
The sink in that bathroom doesn't have an overflow drainage hole near the top. The overflow drain is, in effect, the staircase.
Luckily I caught it before the water made it past the door.
The floor and the towels needed washing anyway.

the point of no point

I figured, hey, why not chase down one of the references at the back of my copy of Dubliners. So I went to the library site and got Edmund Wilson's Axel's Castle: A Study of the Imaginative Literature of 1870-1930. Julie's out of town, briefly, TV isn't all it's cracked up to be, so why not (I write, as the TV is playing in the background and the book is lying shut on the table)?
Unfortunately for me, the Joyce chapter is on Ulysses (which the book puts in quotes rather than italics indicating what? it's just an overgrown poem or short story?), not Dubliners.
Still the introductory chapter is interesting and the concluding one promises to be (haven't gotten there yet).
To save you some reading: It appears that there's been stylistic ping-pong going on in literature as well as the other arts. Objectivism - subjectivism; rules - no rules; filtered - hand-rolled; call it what you want. Wilson uses the terms Classicism - Romanticism. Works for me. But he complicates things by saying that French literature is generally Classical and English is generally Romantic and therefore their incursions on the other side of the pendulum swing seem like childish attempts at the style/form. Which is how you end up with a sentence like this one:

Two of the Symbolist poets, Stuart Merrill and Francis
Viele-Griffin, were Americans who lived in Paris and wrote French; and an American, reading to-day the latter's "Chevauchee d'Yeldis," for example, may wonder how, when Symbolism was new, such a poem could ever have been regarded as one of the movement's acknowledged masterpieces: to us, it seems merely agreeable, not in the least revolutionary or novel, but like something which might not impossibly have been written by Thomas Bailey Aldrich if he had been influenced by Browning.

Zing!

So it turns out Dubliners is a sort of ultra-naturalism as transported from France to Ireland, written quite exquisitely but without much of a point except to expose tiny alterations in the characters' approaches to life without commenting upon said alterations - transformations is too strong a word.


No real ha-ha today except maybe this.
One of the movements identified was the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.
In a forward-looking way (unlike them, in other words), I might call myself Pre-Madgeite or Pre-Cocoite. Which has the better ring?

confession

One of the reasons I found Madge's question yesterday so overwhelming is this.
Just after she had put on the snow pants (snowboard pants, technically), I had looked at her and thought, "cute, she's got a bit of a tushie in this thing." So her timing of the question was really superb. Because, really, whenever someone asks the question, the honest answer is usually yes, if not "what do mean, these pants?"
And then, of course, Madge was amazed that I ran to my desk to jot down some notes so I wouldn't forget the date or the question. And afterwards she kept peppering me with, "You mean all women ask this?"

It's a good thing, by the way, that we took the sled out again yesterday, because the snow has already disappeared. I'm feeling ripped off here in New York.

Madge bonus

See, now that she's better, she's in top form.
Mark your calendars. Apparently, eight-and-a-half is when it starts. She put on her new snow pants today because it finally snowed. The shirt that carried over from her school outfit didn't work, so she changed it and looked at herself in the mirror.
Then she turned to me and said, in all seriousness,
"Do these pants make my butt look big?"

What?!? I thought I had another four years or so!

Coco Tuesday

A sign of the times, I think.
Coco plays on his friend's Gameboy, a Star Wars game. In it, one of the droids - the Felix of the droid Odd Couple - occasionally gets hurt. To which Coco says,
"Poor mp3-0."

Madge Monday

It gets difficult to come up with charming things about a kid who's been at home, sick-ish, for the past four days. Between the TV and the computer games, there have been brief bouts of jealousy and whining and demands.
But enough about me...
zing! (see, even my comedic inclinations are getting rusty)
Madge really hasn't been feeling well, so much so that she just stayed in her top bunk during Coco's birthday party. But she started rereading the Pullman series (His Dark Materials) and is upset that there are only three books in the trilogy. See, she's seen Star Wars and therefore doesn't really know that trilogy has something to do with the number three.
Just wait till she sees the Godfather movies and understands that trilogy really means two.

deja vu

Here's a conversation I have way too often.
"Daddy, when I do this, it hurts."
"Then don't do it."
"Oh."

Today it involved chewing on a pointy toy.

The cat

It's ironic that I posted about the cat last night.
See, because of him, I now need a new desk chair.
His fur blends in with the pillow I have on the chair, and in order to avoid making a cat pancake as I sat down (without looking first, but why would I?) I contorted myself and the loose chair arm to such a degree that something snapped.
Luckily it wasn't any of my or the cat's limbs.
But now, as I said, I need a new desk chair.

(I can hear Julie saying "Finally!" as she's reading this.)

Tomdog

That is Madge's neologism for our cat. She derived it from Tomboy, not knowing the term Tomcat, which we then explained to her.
See, our cat:
eats all of his food at once
drinks from the toilet
wants you to scratch his belly
chases his tail
plays fetch with thrown toy mice
even drops the fetched mice at your feet to play again
is happy to see people
mounts visitors' legs (okay, maybe not this one)

Coco Tuesday

This evening, Coco came running into the kitchen.
Coco: Look, I found a nickel!
Mommy: Where did you find it?
Coco: By your bed.
Mommy: Well, then you can keep it.
Coco: I got a nickel!
Madge [rolling eyes, older-sistery]: That's not a nickel; it's just a penny.
Coco [skipping down hallway, sing-song]: A penny! A penny!

Madge Monday

We had a bit of an incident today. Madge changed her mind about going to the party store after Coco waited all day so she could go along as she asked to, earlier that day. So now he's a day behind in his party planning and Madge has encountered the power of the refusal to accept an apology. It is usually her game to deny someone the opportunity to apologize, but today she found no buyer for her sorries. And boy is she repentent now.

bit o' reading

The local bookstore has a book club which I may or may not take part in. I've read the book, Dubliners, by James Joyce, just in case I do. I'm not sure I get the point of the stories - or the point of not having a point -, but occasionally they have quite gorgeous lines. Here's one:

The eyes were very dark blue and steady. Their gaze began with a defiant note but was confused by what seemed a deliberate swoon of the pupil into the iris, revealing for an instant a temperament of great sensibility.

"Deliberate swoon" - awesome.

TCM

Turner Classic Movies. Always a fun channel to watch. Last night I sort of watched Portrait of Jennie (don't know if it was A or The). Weird, especially since the weirdness of the older girl playing a younger girl made me dismiss it as being miscast. I figured she must have been someone's girlfriend. I mean, she may have been, anyway, but I thought that's what got her the role. Then, later, when the twist became more obvious and then finally was revealed, I realized I should have been paying more attention.
I was also annoyed by the constant quotation of Debussy's Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun in the soundtrack. Oh, well.
Then I started Now, Voyager, which I've always wanted to see and still do, but the whole thing was too late and I got irritated by the overly fake ocean-cruise scene. They could have just had a white backdrop with the words "We're on an ocean now" and it would have been just as believable.

mmm, food

There was a healthy eating activity / fun-filled fest at the school this evening.
I don't know why, but among all the healthful, wholesome things, I was wondering if there might not be display of what not to eat. Just as I was thinking it, Coco spied a bag of Cheetos on a table and said, "oooh, chips!" (There were chips nearby, too.)

I ought to end this post there, but I got to thinking later that it's strange how our tongue gets thrilled by things that harm our body. Right? Fat, salt, sugar: those are the things our tongue craves. The higher powers (evolution or intrusive divinities) are cruel.

book club

I'm not in one (though I might try again soon), but Madge is, in her class.
She and some friends are reading Hatchet by Gary Paulsen. She's got a bunch of post-its in her copy with notes on them. My favorite is the one that has the creative misspelling "soulition."
A word like that ought to exist.
Anyway, I found out about the book club because I remarked that I know and like the book, but I was surprised that they are reading it at such a relatively young age. To which she replied that one of her book club friends had nightmares after the first chapter. (Is a SPOILER ALERT necessary for something that happens in the first chapter? If so, you are forewarned.) See, the whole book is basically a Robinson Crusoe story set in northern woods, starring a boy who (my perforated memory tells me) is about thirteen. He gets stranded because the pilot of the little plane he's in has a heart attack, and this heart attack is so vividly told that it gives eight-year-old girls nightmares, which is quite a compliment to the author.
I may not have helped Madge's sleep by telling her that now she knows about it and if she's ever around her grandparents and they start talking in a slurred way and complaining about a lack of feeling in their limbs, especially the left ones, she'll be a step ahead of the game.
"You mean MY grandparents?"
Oops.

Coco Tuesday

As much fun as flying Jet Blue can be, it sure makes a difference what time of day you fly. Coming back was more difficult all around. See, the benefit of Jet Blue for kids is that they have their own TV screen to control. And for the little brother, Coco, having "my own remote!" was indeed a big deal - though Madge still had to help him work it and choose channels.
On the flight back, though, there was no Direct TV signal to be had for the first few hours. And by the time they got the signal back, all the Coco-friendly networks were no longer so. The nearest program to something appropriate was Nick at Night, which was airing a Goosebumps episode. One that, of course, featured a creepy green blob on an airplane. Halfway through the episode, Coco said, "I'm scared." And it was dark outside and the next most appropriate thing, after Godfather 2, was Project Runway.
But they were working in denim, and what, I ask you, is more scary than that?

Madge Monday

Apparently, parents are really annoying when they worry about somebody throwing up on an airplane or in a car even though this somebody has a track record of doing so and even though this same somebody admitted to feeling like she had to throw up on the plane and going to the bathroom but not being able to and then lying down and falling asleep because she was feeling ill.
But I guess if she's with it enough, now, to go to the bathroom to try to throw up, then we really don't need to bug her about it.
Maybe.

And now that we're back, she's doing creative jet-lag math. At night, she figures she can stay up later because "it's only 5:30 in California," but in the morning, she feels she can be grumpy and sleep in "because it's only 4:30 in California."
Live in the here and now, sister!

marvels of vacation

We were having Mexican food in Petaluma when a short, old, hispanic guy with a straw hat came in. Coco gasped.
"Mommy, look! A real cowboy!"

happy happy happy meals

We went through a BK drive-thru with Coco - a new experience for the young man.
On the way back he had his mouth full of hamburger and saw a pedestrian, which made him say, "Walking is really stupid; and boing shoulders. But cars, they're the best."
I guess suburbanites get born and raised in the city.

CocoTuesday

Little dude is still excited about the minivan. They find new stuff in it all the time.
Drink holders. What will people think of next. Even the windshield wipers amaze him.

Madge Monday

Too cute. Since we've been here, she's had two playdates with kids she knew in kindergarten here. It was all her idea. She wrote to them and got their phone numbers and we went and hung out with them. Of course the playdates were a little awkward at first, and Madge was a bit tired, but still, I'm amazed since I'm quite bad at keeping in touch - which is why do this bloggie-thingie.

California Post

Whoa. This internet thingie is magic.
Here I am in California and it all looks the same, virtually. Though, man, the Bay Area sure is a beautiful place. Now I know, again, why we lived here and moved back at one point.
I guess what we need is several homes. One on each coast and one in Europe, I guess.
The trip itself went smoothly, mostly thanks to the Direct TV available in the seatbacks of Jet Blue.
And then the rental minivan. No TV, but the kids have been without a car for two years now, and the mere fact that we were in a car that's not a cab and that, gulp, Daddy was driving - "Daddy can drive?" - was miraculous.
But then I was exhausted and crashed. Not the car (context, context), but the metaphorical one of exhaustion in the chair at the Grandparents' house.
Ahhh, vacation.

getting ready to travel

Eeek.
The hardest part about the whole affair is trying to get the ones who can't wait to actually go to sleep.
"But what if we don't wake up in time?"
Grr.

fear: patriotic, color-coded

Has this man gotten a genius grant yet?
Where do I send my nomination.
Randy Newman, that is:

neurological fun

We went to the neurologist with Coco today.
And while we were all sharing a laugh about the fact that they get heaps of calls right after Christmas when parents read the warning labels about video games and epilepsy, she told us this anecdote.
Apparently she was at an epilepsy fundraiser which included doctors and patients and prospective donors, I presume. After the food was cleared, the lights were dimmed, the d.j. started the music and, yes, the strobe lights. At which point, apparently, all the patients dove under tables as if it were a WWII air raid.
Obviously, the doctors intervened and had the lights turned to normal before there was any involuntary breakdancing.

Among the books I found through Dwight Garner’s blog is this one: How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read by Pierre Bayard. The French title is “Comment parler des livres qu l’on n’a pas lus?” which is slightly more subtle because of the question mark. Anyway, the book basically demands to be skimmed, not read, because it is just what you guessed and what everyone who passed a language or literature or any class at all, I think, knows how to do anyway. I found the most “useful” bit in the beginning of the book, where the author presents a set of symbols for citing and discussing books.
UB book unknown to me
SB book I have skimmed
HB book I have heard about
FB book I have forgotten
And then a set of opinions from - - through – and + to ++, regardless of whether the book has been read or not.
In general I don’t disagree, especially because all books are more or less forgotten after reading – or even during, if the bookmark stays in too long.
Therefore I’d think that the FB is just a facetious way of saying RB – read book, and should be listed as such.
I’d also amend the symbols to include, as a subcategory of HB: SM – seen the movie, and HM – heard about the movie.
Also, UB makes no sense, otherwise how could the book even be mentioned?

Coco Tuesday

Coco keeps seeing things on TV and at friends' houses and in stores that he wants. And his birthday is coming up, so telling him that things are out of the question doesn't really work right now. I'm steeling myself for another greed-fest.
And yet. Today I got the kids new toothbrushes and some toothpaste. Coco's toothbrush has the Power Rangers on it. He loves it. Thanked me three times, if not more.
Then, the new toothpaste: Bubble Fun Flavor.
I believe his words were "awesome" and "fantastic."
He should be in commercials for the stuff.

Madge Monday

Sometimes she talks funny for the sake of talking funny (and imitating some TV influence), sometimes it's inadvertent.
Tonight, for example, she was reading The Subtle Knife. At one point she held the book to her chest and said, "Wilbokuhtabijou."
We played the game where I say "What?" and says the exact same thing when I broke through the fun we were having by talking in circles and said, "Say it more slowly, please."
"Will broke the tabijou."
And then, when it turned out that Daddy indeed knows that the word is spelled t-a-b-o-o, we were able to speak again.
Then the problem switched to the fact that, while I read the book, I read the book long ago and don't really remember details, especially not the details for which she wants answers (and when I do, I don't tell her).
Must be tough to have me as a father.

TV

Okay, the secret reason I gave in and got cable TV is that I wanted to watch The Wire.
I'm generally full of qualms, but so far the only thing that really bugged me about the show was in earlier seasons, when Avon was in jail, talking to Stringer Bell about their territory and what to do about it. See, they weren't in a room across a table with a partition, they were talking to each other from one side of heavy glass to the other, over a phone. Over a phone.
Apparently, they can have a whole season's worth of wiretapping woes and excitement and then, frustrated about not catching Stringer Bell, they can't seem to put up some surveillance in a prison when the two are talking openly.
Oh, well.
And yet, the rest of the show is so well done that I just flinched a little and kept watching.
Who knows, maybe there's some weird legal thing about not being able to use conversations of convicted criminals with suspected ones that transpire on government property - but I doubt it.

Motto

The rooms where my Sunday thing meets are at Adelphi University.
I found an examination book there (blank), which has the school's motto - actually two mottos because one is in Latin, the other in English.
The English one is fairly clicheed, seemingly taken from the X Files: The Truth Shall Make Us Free.
The Latin one is: Vita sine litteris mors est.
Which I guess means "life is dead without litter."
So don't recycle.

Chuck E Cheese again

I've found the secret to surviving it. Just watch "What Not To Wear" the night before and then have a field day.
Just make sure you occasionally look out for your kid.

Playdates

They abound, now, which is great, because otherwise the time between Coco's end of school and Madgie's is near interminable. A friend of Coco's has an au pair from Kiev, a little more than half (HALF!! is that possible?) my age, who taught me to play durak. Those playdates just whizz by now.
Since it's a card game, idle conversation follows, and now I feel that I "must to" (a phrase Coco's friend picked up from his au pair) ask my oldest sister about her au pair time. From the outside it seems such a harmless agreement. But, man, even in the better families (and she got a great one), it's got to be difficult.
A year away from one's country, yet not free because pseudo-employed as a nanny, doing domestic and childrearing duties one is most likely not equipped for, yet, because inexperienced unless one had little siblings.
I say "one," but how likely is it to hire on a young man if one were even to apply.

old lady, me

I had a date yesterday with a friend to go shopping at a grocery store, and it was great!
Well-stocked, spaceous, with friendly people and good products ...
Do I need a steroid injection or something?
Groceries: one of my week's highlights.
Weird.

New Year's Resolution

Julie just told me the best one I've ever heard. It's from a colleague of hers who is from Arkansas, so it helps to imagine the accent.

"I'm gonna learn to say 'shit' in ten different languages."

reading too closely?

Okay, I don’t mean to bore you, but sometimes I’m not sure if an editor slipped up or if I’m just stubbornly seeking something that’s not there. I ran across two such examples in two short days.
The first example I read today, in John Connolly’s The Book of Lost Things, which, judging from the first chapter, promises to be a wonderful book. The sentence reads:

Newspaper stories were as insubstantial as smoke, as long-lived as mayflies.

Wouldn’t it be more consistently tongue-in-cheek if the smoke were “substantial?” Or did they (author and editor) not trust the reader enough? Just wondering. I, for one, would have enjoyed my version better (surprise, surprise).

The second example is the poem “Weltende,” by Jakob van Hoddis.

Dem Bürger fliegt vom spitzen Kopf der Hut,
in allen Lüften hallt es wie Geschrei.
Dachdecker stürzen ab und gehn entzwei
und an den Küsten - liest man - steigt die Flut.

Der Sturm ist da, die wilden Meere hupfen
an Land, um dicke Dämme zu zerdrücken.
Die meisten Menschen haben einen Schnupfen.
Die Eisenbahnen fallen von den Brücken.


World’s End (my shoddy translation)

The citizen’s hat flies off his pointy head,
All airs echo like screams.
Roofers fall and break in two
An at the coasts – one reads – the flood rises.

The storm is there, the wild oceans hop
On land, to crush thick dams.
Most people have a cold.
The trains fall from the bridges.


My point is simply this: wouldn’t the rhyme-scheme, not to mention the humor that is indicated by the enjambedly hopping oceans, be better served by switching the last to lines and ending with the anti-climactic sniffles?
But maybe I read too much Ogden Nash.

Coco Tuesday

Possibly too much information, but today was a slight breakthrough for Coco.
See, he had a lengthy playdate so I could have my wish-me-luck meeting (which ended well, yet inconclusively).
And during this playdate he went potty, the kind that usually needs my involvement at the, uh, tail end.
But today he did it himself - and, as he reported, he even washed his hands.
What a big boy.

Aggie

Our friends got a new puppy, but they live in San Francisco, so we won't be able to see them in a while.

Cuuuuuute. (The puppy's not bad, either. Badump-zing!)

Quandary

I've got something coming up for which I kind of want people to wish me luck
But
I don't want luck to be necessary.
On the other hand, I'm not even sure if I should say this much about it for fear of hexing it.
And yet
I don't want luck to be necessary.

Maybe I should just see what happens.

Madge Monday

We stayed home today. Madge was sick, a case of Monday, I believe. The only true corroboration I had was that she fell asleep an hour before she usually does on Sunday and still was tired and unable to get out of bed on Monday morning, but because I had other things on my plate I figured she could stay home.
Oddly enough, we didn't really have any fights.
Maybe I'm growing up.

Coco's special diet

This evening, it consisted of two fudgesicles, a candy cane, orange juice, some edamame, undon noodles, and avocado sushi.
The positive spin, I believe, is to note that it is varied.

bye-bye, tree

We put out our tree today, to everyone's mild sadness. Then we packed up the unbroken ornaments (the cat really is nuts) and vacuumed some more needles (though this tree's needles were rather tenacious). None of this is terribly exciting.
But
when we came back a few hours after leaving the house and setting the tree on the sidewalk, our tree was gone. Other trees were still there and we didn't notice it anywhere else on the block.
What the?!
Admittedly, it was a beautiful tree and we loved it dearly, but who would take a four-week-old tree? And what would they do with it?
Wherever you are, rest well.

That darned cat

I was affixing a button today and realized I need more hands because nothing is as enticing to the pesky feline as a flashy thing with a thread attached.
Ack!

Screwy week

Let's just call this another CocoMadge entry.
They've both been having playdates going full bore this week, catching up for lost time. It's great to see them socializing again after turning into Handheld-Game-Zombies over the break.
Today we went to a friend who lives in the building next door. Ordinarily, I wouldn't come along there because the nanny has things totally under control - another West Indian Brooklyn Nanny.
But (unfortunately for me) I sometimes forget to try on the child's point of view. And while I find her entertaining - she's older, has a strong accent, a turban of dreadlocks, and a cane - the kids find her rather intimidating. She, after all, has to enforce the parents' rules.
The first time I went over I had expressed my surprise to Coco and asked him why he wanted me along this time when he was fine before, he pulled me down and whispered in my ear, "She make me eat all my food and I don't want to."
Oh.
Then, later, I asked Madge if she found the nanny scary, she said, "Oh, yes. I'm always afraid she might hit me with her cane."
I told the nanny about the food thing and she's patched things up with Coco but he still doesn't trust her.
Madge's concerns I haven't voiced. I have told Madge that it wouldn't happen. But I've noticed lately that Madge doesn't really trust what I say. She always thinks I'm trying to rip her off somehow.

Message of Thanks

We've made the cards, now all we need to do is make them more specific than the generic corner store grocery bag.

Saint CocoMadge

The patron saint of booger-eaters.

Madge whatever today is

Poor Madge. She didn't want to wear her glasses to school today. When we got to the drop-off area, she was holding them in her hands. She put them on again after I asked her to. Or told her to. Oh, well. I hope it was just first-day jitters.
They're a very cute red number with the name "Asterix" on them, since Uderzo (I guess) is branching out with his branding.