Easter Parade

As he marched onto the school field, Tommy was soooo happy to see me that I felt immediately relieved that I had stayed home from work that morning to attend the parade.  He didn't seem aware of what was on his head or what was on the heads of the other children -- just happy to see me, and Grandma Sid and Lulu.

Please know that I am grateful and doing whatever I can to engrave this in my memory, because I know that he will be embarrassed of me in public at some point in his life.  But right now he is not.

Last night when Grandma Sid was telling Tommy a bedtime story, he announced his intention to be, when he grows up, "a regular dad.  The kind who stays at home with his kids."  I could tell Eli found it heartbreaking as Sid told the story but I told Eli there could be no greater compliment.

(Tommy and I discussed this conversation on the bus and I had to remind myself that he is just four (but almost five!) and that I don't need to be concerned that he doesn't envision himself ever working.  I choked back, "but how will you buy food?" because of course he's only four.  Thank goodness he doesn't have to worry about these types of questions.)

Anyway, the bonnets were really funny.  One kid had an army helmet with bunny ears taped on; one kid had a huge sombrero (like width of hat equal to his height) with easter eggs hanging from the perimeter; another kid dressed as a ghost.

 This is a picture of our tube stop with the magnolia in bloom.  I thought it would be a nice thing to remember, so I am slapping it up on the blog.

Stay tuned -- the first instalment in the Easter Bonnet Saga

I receive e-mails from Eridge House each Thursday afternoon and when I'm lucky, they require no action on my part.  When I'm unlucky, they contain a task (see, for example, my post on Flat Stanley). 

Last week's e-mail informed all the parents that the Easter parade would begin promptly at 11, and remember, the e-mail warned, the parents and child are responsible for the child's Easter bonnet. 

What, I wondered, does an Easter bonnet for a boy look like? 

A google search provided images of little boys in hats fashioned to look like nests with chicks in them.  And visors, with chicks and flowers glued on. 

This was so baffling to me that I willfully ignored the whole thing until Sunday, when I asked Sid to look for some supplies at the pound store. 

She didn't find anything, so we three adults reconvened last night to discuss the next place to look for the necessary supplies.  Luckily, we had a big cardboard box and it occurred to me that we might just use it to make a crown?  And then glue some tissue paper on it to make it semi-Easter colored? And perhaps stick some decorations on it? Chicks? Eggs?  Jewels, Tommy demanded this morning when I floated my idea. 

So, Sid went to M&S, and found tissue paper and sequins.  Hey, maybe not typical, but we are AMERICANS to whom the traditions of (1) Easter parades and (2) Easter bonnets and (3) Easter bonnets for boys are brand new. 

Sid, Tommy and Lizzie made the bonnet/crown this afternoon.  I just spoke with Sid and asked her how it all went.  She said that she wasn't sure I'd approve of Tommy's addition to his Easter bonnet. 

What is it? I asked. 

A sword.  She said.  He's made himself a matching sword. 

Well, I said, they may not let him carry that in the parade.  (But I understand why he wants it, given the whole Easter bonnet thing.)

On Grandparenting

This week has begun with me saying a little prayer to whoever is out
there listening to me (why do I suspect that there might not be
anyone) thanking them for making Grandma's visit coincide with Mandy's
stomach flu.

I worried that it might be too much for Grandma to handle
she-who-is-the-center-of-the-universe all day all alone, but it turns
out Grandma's coping mechanism meshes completely with Lizzie's view of
The Way Things Ought To Be.  Grandma does everything Lizzie wants her
to do.

Last night after Eli arrived, Lizzie had, so claims her father, no
fewer than five fits.  And this morning, during her second of the day
(well, that I had witnessed) brought on when I took sweets away from
her, I looked at Sid and said, "really? Do you promise that she never
did this to you yesterday?"  and Sid, "well, sure.  I never took
anything away from her."

And there, my friends, is the point.  I just have to raise my children
well enough to get some nice grandkids out of the deal so I too can do
whatever my favorite children want.  Doesn't that sound so much nicer
than having to socialize them?

Counting...

Honestly, a third post about Mike Daisey

We've had an exciting week.  Eli and Sid and Ollie all went to Paris (and had Ollie's iPad and camera stolen on the Metro), and the rest of us stayed here but work was busy and Tommy was sick one night everyone was gone and, well, it was one of those weeks that make you wonder if it's possible to have kids and a demanding job.  Really, I'm just tired.  Because I had a fun week at work and I have to work on Sunday and I don't feel sad about it.  (I know.)

It has, as always, been great fun having Sid and Ollie here.  My only complaint is that we don't watch any television because we sit around the table and talk after dinner.  I miss Friday Night Lights and 30 Rock and, my new favorite, Modern Family.  (I used to hate Phil but now I totally totally love him.  Don't you?)  It's sad to me that all of you are watching Downton Abbey now and I am stuck waiting for Season 3.  I will say that I plan to watch the Christmas Special annually because more than anything else in the whole show (those who have watched it know that is saying quite a lot), I adore the scene with the old truck driving the Christmas tree up to Downton.  And I think that's enough on television for today.  Onward.

You guys.  Did you listen to the Mike Daisey RETRACTION episode of This American Life? It physically pained me to listen to it.  I was running on Tuesday during work as I listened, and all the tourists along the Thames must've thought I was insane the way I kept talking to fill that awkward silence that happened pretty much every time Ira asked Mike Daisey a question.  And I kept thinking to myself:  yes, Laura, this guy is an actor (and really freaking evasive) but this is still awful and embarrassing and something that he made and is proud of is pretty much being taken from him.  But God.  Ira read those emails wherein he and his fact checker apologise for being so nit-picky but want to make sure that the story meets the standards for journalism and Mike replies that he totally gets it.  Why, why, why.  Friends, I find it painful.  I'm not sure there's more to be said.  Except that someone should write a play about this whole thing because that would be one to see.  (I think only one playwright reads this blog - perhaps not consistently so this might die right here -- so Dup that idea right there is for you.)

Ollie said that Ira Glass came to University of Wyoming and that what Ollie noticed is that people constantly give him story ideas.  And here I thought I was unique in my plan to give Ira Glass a story idea when I meet him.

I actually e-mailed Ira after I listened on Tuesday, mostly because he sounded just so exhausted and, well, sort of defeated to me.  So I told him that I don't blame him and his team (though that part where the Marketplace correspondent finds the translator with a google search is somewhat appalling, it's clear he blames himself plenty) and that I love his show and that I do not plan to die without having been on it and that he should look for my name in his inbox in the future.

Just as soon as I come up with an idea.

If you have story ideas, why don't you send them to me instead of Ira?

Have lovely weekends and a very happy Spring to you all.

More on the mice

I have a very important update for you all.  For those of you who are squeamish about mice, skip this post.  You know we saw a mouse running around back in the fall (was it November?) and the thing that I didn't tell all of you is that we kept seeing it (honestly, must have been them, but that's difficult for me to handle).

Then, after about four viewings, six snap traps (we go old school), a roll of steel wool crammed into all the holes we could find, some peppermint oil, a battery operated trap that electrocutes unsuspecting rodents, and a very pricey contraption that supposedly emits a noise that is so irritating to rodents that you have to give away your gerbils and guinea pigs if you have it in your house, we (1) had never caught a mouse, (2) hadn't seen any mice (or at least I hadn't) since Christmas or so, and I was beginning to wander in and out of the kitchen without stomping to announce my presence.

And then it was last week.  And I saw that stupid mouse twice:  on Tuesday night and on Thursday night.

So I told Eli that I was calling the exterminator and on Friday morning, I did call the exterminator.  And eight hours after I called him, and five hours after he promised to be at our house, he and a couple of guys rolled on in.  They pried the floor boards off, discovered the "infestation" under the stove (nice and warm) and assured me that no mice would be running out and that I could climb down from the dining chair.  Then, the lead guy and I had a very interesting conversation during which he told me (1) about how mice think (this largely involved a comparison between mice and people who want to come into my house and steal the television), and (2) that he doesn't know where I'm from but here, the landlord pays for exterminators and I should send his invoice to the landlord immediately.  (I did.)

I have not seen a mouse since the exterminators were here.  While I know that does not mean that the mice are gone, for the moment I am content and find the poison under the stove very comforting (this is how you know I've gone crazy as I'm one of those people who refuses to microwave plastic).  Next time (please no) I will be calling the exterminator right away.  (I spent more than the cost of the exterminator -- easily -- on all the mouse-killing paraphernalia that didn't work.)

I will keep you updated.

This American Life

The Mike Daisey piece on This American Life has been retracted.  I haven't listened yet, but I didn't want to mislead any of my 19 readers because then I might only have 18 readers and I like having 19. xoxo