Of Things Pink

This evening found Julie and Ted engaged in a joint medical consultation to determine whether Clara might have have pink eye.  We found the patient standing in the middle of her room in her pink hooded towel twirling in a slow circle as she reached one arm behind her to point to her bottom while she murmured, "My butt, my butt, my butt. . ."  Of course, the last time a medical examination was required, the area of examination was her lady parts, all of which currently fall under the umbrella of bottom to Clara.

Birdie took the news that her eye would be examined instead in stride.  She flatly stated, "I have pink eye."  The consensus was no, she does not have pink eye, though she does seem to have a touch of congestion which is making her eyes watery and her nose drippy.  So no pink eye, but a pink towel!  Or so she was told.

Shortly after this exchange, Julie asked Clara to find Pink Dog and bring him to Clara's bed.  Joe said, "Her!  Pink Dog is a girl!"   Julie asked how he knew that and wondered aloud if it was because Pink Dog is--you've guessed it, Fans--pink.  Joe said yes, but added that Pink Dog had long ears as well--ponies.  He was nice about it, but it was clear that Pink Dog's gender was completely obvious.

Of Cannonballs and Gravity

After dinner, Ted told the bambini they could play for a bit before taking a bath.  Naturally, the bambini decided to dismantle the sofa and chair, making the cushions a pool into which to do cannonballs from the sofa and chair diving boards.  (They have recently learned what cannonballs are from a library book.)  Here they are.  Joe is very much relishing his older brother responsibilities, the additional maturity bestowed upon him by two years being most on display at 1:11 and 1:40.  (Can you handle it, Fans?)  Shortly after this video was cut, Clara remarked to Joe, "Gravity!"  Joe replied, "What?  Oh!  Yes!  You're doing gravity."  He then turned to Julie and said, "Mommy, I learned gravity holds you back down to the Earth."  True.  But he's got his wings out all the same.

Under Under Wear

Also on Tuesday, upon disrobing for bath, Joe announced what he'd discovered earlier in the day: he was wearing two pairs of underwear.  (He thought this circumstance was hilarious.)  The bambini both dress themselves in the mornings now.  Clara, of course, needs some assistance, but it's best to leave her to her own devices and either wait for her to approach and ask for help with what she needs, or make a judgement about whether to offer it later upon seeing a shirt on backwards or some such.  Joe mostly manages fine except for the fact that he is often, apparently, lost in thought and so might forget that, say, he was already wearing underwear.  It was really only a matter of time before this happened.

Snow, All Over This Country

Denizens in the Snow-Covered Country

And then it was Tuesday.  Everyone was back in school just in time for the wind-up of a big snowfall.  As Joe approached the front door he said, "There's snow all over this country!"

Theories of Relativity

So there we were, Monday evening, eating dinner, when Joe asked apropos of absolutely nothing: "When do people die?"  One tries to prepare for such moments, of course, but in the moment, the script you read in the parenting book, or on the handout you got at the pediatrician's office, the script that was short and  straightforward and honest, tends to be forgotten.  With any luck, you are left with remembering to be short, straightforward, and honest.

Julie tried first.  (She forgot to buy herself some time by saying something like, "That's a good question."  See the script flying out the window?  There is goes!  Whee!)  She said something like people usually die when they are really, really, really old.  If you were there, you could almost hear her and Ted, collectively, thinking, "Don't say people die when they get sick!  Or at least remember to say sometimes people die when they get sick.  Like Raleigh!  He got sick and there wasn't any medicine to make him better."  Ted got there first: "Sometimes when people get ill [Ill!  That's the ticket!] they might die if there's no medicine to make them better."

Joe was still back on when they are really, really, really old answer and had a follow-up: "Like Grandpa Charles?  When he gets lots more years old?"  Julie's heart was in her throat, but she managed to say, "Yes, when he's lots more years old.  Lots."

And that was that.  This reporter can't remember where the conversation careened after that.

These are the things that the Wee Ones say that make the Not So Wee Ones feel terribly not so wee, right?  That make the Not So Wee Ones feel their mortality that much more keenly?  But although this reporter is, relative to Joe and Clara, at least older, she does not feel old.

She feels the accumulated years: is it possible that she will be the same age this year as Grandpa Charles was when she was born?  That she will have been graduated from college almost 15 years?  From high school almost 20?  That she and Ted will have been married eight years?  And have lived in Minnesota that long?  That she has, she supposes, by now a career, not just a job?  That Joe will begin kindergarten this fall?  That Clara's hair is long enough to be put up in barrettes?

Julie read a book once that contained the line, "Life gathers."  Julie feels hers doing that, but still she doesn't feel old, and she doesn't think of Grandpa Charles as old, just older.

And now she realizes that in answering Joe's question, she answered only with her head.  She forgot to answer with her heart, too, and say that she believes, sometimes people don't ever die because they have gathered in our hearts, where they will stay always.

Maybe this is the heart's way of guarding against one of life's stiffest blows.  Nevertheless, Julie believe it is true.  It is as true as the fact that later in the week, when Julie asked Clara who was in Clara's heart, Clara answered, "Chloe, and Pink Dog, and Fluffy, and Berenice, and Daddy, and Mommy, and Joe."

Chloe took top billing, Brigade.  Always in her heart.