 |
| In Valentine's Day finery, striking the usual poses (CHEEEEESE!!!!!) |
Our valentine to you, Dear Fans.
 |
| Valentines |
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Of Valentines (and Tomatoes)
Our valentine to you, Dear Fans.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Star
Sometimes Birdie comes home with a smiley face drawn on her hand. Usually it's when a certain Ms. Brittany has been in Birdie's room at pick-up. Ms. Brittany is what the KinderCare management call a "floater," or "float." It's a confidence-inspiring term, clearly. Don't you only wish, Brigade, that you and yours could be minded by a float? So Ms. Brittany is free with the toddler tats, if you will, inking her way into their hearts (and out of their parents' hearts or, at any rate, these parents' hearts).
This past week, Biride came home with a rather small, and, frankly, delicate, star inked on her hand, and Julie will admit her breath and her heart were caught for a moment. They caught because the star put her in mind of the Philip Levine poem, The Blue Star, in which a man seeks to have a doctor remove a tiny blue star. Julie first encountered it in a book called Covering, The Hidden Assault on Our Civil Rights which is about the civil rights law that may perhaps unfold in the rest of her lifetime, or Joe's and Clara's lifetimes, and also the extent to which we all hold multitudes, some of which we feel we must cover, even if those aspects of ourselves are those which might most brightly shine.* The poem's concluding lines read:
I could feel nothing, and then he said
proudly, "I have it!" and held up
the perfect little blue star, no
longer me and now bloodless. "And do
you know what we have under it?"
"No," I said. "Another perfect star."
I closed my eyes, but the lights
still swam before me in a sea
of golden fire. "What does it mean?"
"Mean?" he said, dabbing the place
with something cool and liquid,
and the lights were blinking on
and off, or perhaps my eyes were
opening and closing. "Mean?" he said,
"It could mean this is who you are."
So often Julie thinks that what is so appealing about Birdie is her what-you-see-is-what-you-get-ness. The unabashed way she embraces her little life and the things in it, including herself. She doesn't hide her light under a bushel. She just shines.
At the end of her Super Beasts class this past weekend, Clara charged over to Teacher Stephanie to put away her three shakers (two for her, one for Julie), pitched them in the bucket, and then tore back to Julie who had both of her hands up for high fives. Birdie gave Julie a solid ten, and just before she broke the connection, put her face right up in Julie's and said, "Let's go get stamps!" before tearing off to the gym's door.
And in that moment, Brigade, she was just. . .incandescent. It was so improbable. On the big red mat at The Little Gym, kids every which way, but that's how she seemed to Julie. So Birdie, so herself, so bright, so shimmering.
Probably all parents think their children are stars and everyone else is thinking, "Yeah, what of it?" That's o-kay. One day Birdie, you and your brother will read these posts, and you'll know that Daddy and I thought the two of you were endlessly enchanting.
This past week, Biride came home with a rather small, and, frankly, delicate, star inked on her hand, and Julie will admit her breath and her heart were caught for a moment. They caught because the star put her in mind of the Philip Levine poem, The Blue Star, in which a man seeks to have a doctor remove a tiny blue star. Julie first encountered it in a book called Covering, The Hidden Assault on Our Civil Rights which is about the civil rights law that may perhaps unfold in the rest of her lifetime, or Joe's and Clara's lifetimes, and also the extent to which we all hold multitudes, some of which we feel we must cover, even if those aspects of ourselves are those which might most brightly shine.* The poem's concluding lines read:
I could feel nothing, and then he said
proudly, "I have it!" and held up
the perfect little blue star, no
longer me and now bloodless. "And do
you know what we have under it?"
"No," I said. "Another perfect star."
I closed my eyes, but the lights
still swam before me in a sea
of golden fire. "What does it mean?"
"Mean?" he said, dabbing the place
with something cool and liquid,
and the lights were blinking on
and off, or perhaps my eyes were
opening and closing. "Mean?" he said,
"It could mean this is who you are."
So often Julie thinks that what is so appealing about Birdie is her what-you-see-is-what-you-get-ness. The unabashed way she embraces her little life and the things in it, including herself. She doesn't hide her light under a bushel. She just shines.
At the end of her Super Beasts class this past weekend, Clara charged over to Teacher Stephanie to put away her three shakers (two for her, one for Julie), pitched them in the bucket, and then tore back to Julie who had both of her hands up for high fives. Birdie gave Julie a solid ten, and just before she broke the connection, put her face right up in Julie's and said, "Let's go get stamps!" before tearing off to the gym's door.
And in that moment, Brigade, she was just. . .incandescent. It was so improbable. On the big red mat at The Little Gym, kids every which way, but that's how she seemed to Julie. So Birdie, so herself, so bright, so shimmering.
Probably all parents think their children are stars and everyone else is thinking, "Yeah, what of it?" That's o-kay. One day Birdie, you and your brother will read these posts, and you'll know that Daddy and I thought the two of you were endlessly enchanting.
You Say You Want A Revolution
FANS!
How you doin'?
We've been on hiatus, it's true, but we're back! We try to keep our finger on the pulse of Joe and Clara Nation, and so would like to start off by answering what might be the burning question of the moment: how goes the bifurcated commute?
Fans, in a word: revolutionary. Revolutionary! Julie glides--and she does mean glide--out the door at 7am, give or take ten minutes. Hugs and given and received, kisses are blown. She doesn't know what happens after she leaves, but she can report that she arrives at work at 7:30am and that all else appears to be going swimmingly as well, as Ted is getting to work, and the bambini are getting to school. Julie leaves work between 4pm and 4:30pm which puts her to the daycare for pick-up between 5pm and 5:30pm. No longer does she feel she is shortchanging anyone or constantly missing some impossible bar. She glides into school, collects the bambini, and as often as not, there is high hilarity on the way home. The other evening, Joe and Clara were doing their version of Abbott and Costello's "Who's On First?" routine, which consist of their alternately claiming Chloe: "My Chloe!", "No, my Chloe!", "No, MY Chloe!" It's hilarious to both of them until it's not hilarious to Clara who's Chloe it really is. When things devolved the other night, Julie sallied forth with "Knuffle!" and the bambini paused only a beat before taking the bait, which they know from Knuffle Bunny, Too, and hollered "Kuh-nuffle!" The threesome hollered it at each other all the way through the neighborhood, into the garage, and up to the front door.
It was a regular Johnson & Johnson's commercial.
Fans, this changes everything.
How you doin'?
We've been on hiatus, it's true, but we're back! We try to keep our finger on the pulse of Joe and Clara Nation, and so would like to start off by answering what might be the burning question of the moment: how goes the bifurcated commute?
Fans, in a word: revolutionary. Revolutionary! Julie glides--and she does mean glide--out the door at 7am, give or take ten minutes. Hugs and given and received, kisses are blown. She doesn't know what happens after she leaves, but she can report that she arrives at work at 7:30am and that all else appears to be going swimmingly as well, as Ted is getting to work, and the bambini are getting to school. Julie leaves work between 4pm and 4:30pm which puts her to the daycare for pick-up between 5pm and 5:30pm. No longer does she feel she is shortchanging anyone or constantly missing some impossible bar. She glides into school, collects the bambini, and as often as not, there is high hilarity on the way home. The other evening, Joe and Clara were doing their version of Abbott and Costello's "Who's On First?" routine, which consist of their alternately claiming Chloe: "My Chloe!", "No, my Chloe!", "No, MY Chloe!" It's hilarious to both of them until it's not hilarious to Clara who's Chloe it really is. When things devolved the other night, Julie sallied forth with "Knuffle!" and the bambini paused only a beat before taking the bait, which they know from Knuffle Bunny, Too, and hollered "Kuh-nuffle!" The threesome hollered it at each other all the way through the neighborhood, into the garage, and up to the front door.
It was a regular Johnson & Johnson's commercial.
Fans, this changes everything.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Whatever
A few weeks ago, Joe tossed a "whatever" off, sounding for all the world like he was some snotty valley girl. Julie sharply told him she didn't like that word as she simultaneously wondered which friend from school was saying that.
It was maybe only a few days later that she heard herself toss a "whatever" off, sounding for all the world like some snotty valley girl.
Fans, do you remember, from the heyday of the War of Drugs, the Partnership for a Drug Free America TV ads? There was one that featured a teen boy lounging around on his bed when his mustachioed dad bursts in with a cigar box of drug paraphernalia and demands to know who taught his son to do this stuff. The kid bursts out with (and Fans of a certain age can probably recite this right along with us): "It was you alright! I learned it by watching you!" Cut to shot of mustachioed dad looking stricken, and the statement "Parents who do drugs have children who use drugs."
Julie felt like that stricken dad, sans mustache. She was the snotty valley girl! Like, OMG.
So she's been making a conscious effort to stamp "whatever" out of her speech. There is, of course, nothing like a pre-schooler to keep you honest. The other night, Julie arrived home with the bambini and said to Joe something like, "Be sure you've got your hat and mittens and whatever!" This would be an appropriate use of the word whatever--that is, it is not being used to dismiss someone like a snotty valley girl, but rather to refer collectively to the flotsam and jetsam of treasures that might be hauled home from daycare. But Joe stopped dead in his tracks and said, "Mommy, you don't like that word. That word is closed in this house."
Whatever.
It was maybe only a few days later that she heard herself toss a "whatever" off, sounding for all the world like some snotty valley girl.
Fans, do you remember, from the heyday of the War of Drugs, the Partnership for a Drug Free America TV ads? There was one that featured a teen boy lounging around on his bed when his mustachioed dad bursts in with a cigar box of drug paraphernalia and demands to know who taught his son to do this stuff. The kid bursts out with (and Fans of a certain age can probably recite this right along with us): "It was you alright! I learned it by watching you!" Cut to shot of mustachioed dad looking stricken, and the statement "Parents who do drugs have children who use drugs."
Julie felt like that stricken dad, sans mustache. She was the snotty valley girl! Like, OMG.
So she's been making a conscious effort to stamp "whatever" out of her speech. There is, of course, nothing like a pre-schooler to keep you honest. The other night, Julie arrived home with the bambini and said to Joe something like, "Be sure you've got your hat and mittens and whatever!" This would be an appropriate use of the word whatever--that is, it is not being used to dismiss someone like a snotty valley girl, but rather to refer collectively to the flotsam and jetsam of treasures that might be hauled home from daycare. But Joe stopped dead in his tracks and said, "Mommy, you don't like that word. That word is closed in this house."
Whatever.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
The Birds Go Shopping
 |
| Fashionista Birdie |
The Birds have, of course, gone shopping together before, and at Old Navy. Often Joe is with them. Old Navy can be a bit dicey because a) it doesn't have carts to contain one's wee ones and b) it has bins of balls and other delights which wee ones can pick up and throw, bounce, or roll all over the place. There are also huge mirrors and some light patterns that are projected on the floor in the children's section at our usual Old Navy. These things actually help in that they keep the bambini contained to one spot, unlike the balls which are chased hither and yon. It used to be that you could assume a solo trip to Old Navy with one or both bambini in tow would be a bit of a trial in some way. But maybe not anymore!
Brigade, Birdie made like a big girl. She wanted to carry some of the shirts Julie picked out for her herself. She wanted, moreover, to toss them over her shoulder, "like Mommy." Old Navy, as many of you probably know, has many of its shirts folded on tables. Julie often slings these over her shoulder like a dish towel. She's not sure why, but that's what she does, so Birdie was going to roll that way, too.
She picked out a skirt--all by herself--a delightful pink, tiered, tulle, be-hearted number that you can see in this picture, and that you can look to hit first Valentine's Day 2013. She's going to be pretty in pink!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
