Birthday parties for the toddler set can be pretty extravagant affairs. Some people rent out a "special" venue where the kids can run wild. Others hire some sort of performer to keep the kids entertained. Regardless of what people do, the events are always seem to be a serious amount of work for an hour or so of entertaining a bunch of toddlers/pre-school kids.
With that background, we set about planning Margaret's fourth birthday party a month or so ago. For prior birthdays, we've had family affairs, but for some reasons, Abby decided that we'd have a full-blown birthday party for Margaret this year. Which requires a number of decisions. Who do you invite? One possibility would be the party with a small number of select friends. Once we decided not to do this, we basically had to invite everyone. After all, if you're not being very selective, how can you not invite some kids from the preschool room at daycare? And you have to invite the neighborhood kids too.
Next, where do you hold the party? Initially, we thought about renting a local playroom that specializes in this type of event. My personal view was that we should just hold it at the local park. The kids can run around and entertain themselves, and everyone will be happy. What's the point of renting out a place when the kids won't care anyway?
In the end, we invited everyone from the preschool room, plus neighborhood kids and family friends, and held the party at a local park. We ended up with 25-30 kids, all of whom had a grand time running around, checking out bugs, and generally playing in the park. We got way too much food, but everyone seemed to enjoy the cake. And everyone seemed to have fun.
So I'd consider the party to be a success. We probably won't do this again in the future. Unless we do the small party with far fewer attendees. I know that Margaret had fun, but like anything with kids, it's not clear that she had more fun than she would have had with a party that required less work on our part. And that's what I'm looking for - something that makes the kids happy without much work. (I told a pregnant friend at work: "In all likelihood, anything that you think is cool, neat or useful about toys or other stuff for your kid, your kid won't care about." Words of wisdom, I think.)
The main purpose of this post is the pictures. Abby has been bugging me to post pictures from the birthday party, and when I said, "But they aren't any good," she said, "I don't care. I want those pictures." So here they are. All of them.
First, the source of the above pictures. This past weekend, we travelled to see the Philadelphia cousins where we went to a Japanese bbq place that we had previously visited for Cousin Andrew's birthday. The cousin's parents went to a baseball game, so it was five kids, Abby, me, and a friend who was in town. (She was in town for a race that she was running with Abby and Rachel on Sunday morning.) The kids didn't have us severely outnumbered, but dinner at the restaurant was still a chaotic event. Our chef put on a pretty good show including the standard trick of throwing shrimp for people to catch. That's what Teddy is doing, or trying to do, in these pictures.
Teddy likes to catch things. More generally, he's a big sports fan. He basically likes every sport out there. Hockey: has no idea what's going on, but is fine sitting there and watching a game. Same with American football. Basketball he loves, especially if it involves Georgetown. And he has a somewhat better idea what's actually happening in a basketball game. Same with soccer.
But I think that he really loves baseball. I'm not sure why. In fact, I'm not sure why he likes sports at all. But he can actually sit for an amazing amount of time to watch a baseball game. Neither his mama nor his papa are particularly good at sports. And at this point in my life, I have little patience as a spectator of the vast majority of sporting events, especially baseball (which takes a god-awful amount of time to play a game) or football (which involves too much silly stuff with big fat guys falling down). Nowadays, I tend to like futbol or, I suppose, hockey, both of which involve lots of continuous action in a relatively compressed time frame.
Teddy, in contrast, wants to play baseball. He wears his little Cubs hat, has his little mitt, and especially likes to swing his little bat at "pitches" thrown at him. When he then throws the ball, he has this little wind-up that he must have learned from watching games on TV. It would appear that he's a submariner because when he tosses the ball, he tends to do so in an side-arm fashion. And it's not clear that he knows on which hand his mitt belongs - when I say, "Wrong hand, Teddy," he'll immediately concur, "Yeah, wrong hand" and will switch his mitt to the correct hand. But he almost always starts with his mitt on the wrong hand.
Speaking of the "wrong hand" for his mitt, it could be that he's left-handed. Like his sister. She is so clearly left-handed that there's no point in even discussing it at this point. She's interested in sports as well, but not nearly with the same intensity. Instead, she seems to be more of a "casual" sports fan like her mama and papa. I'm not sure if Teddy's interest reflects a gender effect or something else. But I do hope that he's not disappointed with his future athletic career. Given the athletic skill that he has gotten from his genetic background - on both sides - I fear that he will be.
Ok, so now that Maddie is gone, I'll change the title of this blog to "The kids and us." The address will stay the same, but there's no point in keeping the title the same. Sort of like the fact that we got rid of many of Maddie's toys over the last few weeks - very sad, but what are you going to do?
I'll stop posting stuff about the dog, but before doing so, I'm going to write about how the kids are currently handling her absence (along with a few other thoughts and memories in one last post later - mainly for posterity rather than for the edification/entertainment of any readers out there).
Teddy has little sense that Maddie is gone. On occasion, he will mention her name, but he doesn't seem to dwell on her absence in any meaningful way. About the most that he's done is to raise his hand and complain about "Maddie hair" - something that he has always done after discovering some foreign hair object on his pacifier or food. Because we no longer have dog hair permeating the house, his complaints are less frequent, but they still pop up.
Margaret has a better sense that Maddie isn't here, but I don't think that she completely understands why or exactly what it means. Still, she seems to recognize that Maddie is gone and won't be coming back. For example...
When we walk home from work, we can walk through various parks. One is a nice playground just south of K St. that doesn't see many kids, but abuts a fenced-in dog park. The last two times that we have headed home in this direction, Margaret has asked about Maddie, probably because the dog park reminds her of Maddie. During the most recent trip along that route, Margaret, who was sitting (in a blatant safety violation) on top of the stroller in front of me said, "I miss Maddie." "Yeah, so do I," I said. "Why did Maddie have to leave?" "Well, she got sick and had to go to the doctor." "But she misses us." "Yeah, I'm sure that she does." "And we miss her." "Yes, we do." "But will she come back?" "No, I don't think so." "Why not?" "Well, she was pretty sick." (A pause.) "So she won't come back?" "No, she was pretty sick and I don't think that she'll be able to come back." (A pause.) "But she was a good dog." "Yes, she was." (A pause.) "I miss her a lot." "Yeah, I miss her a lot too."
Margaret was getting a little teary-eyed around this point, but I told her that we'd talk about it later and managed to get her distracted by something else. So while Margaret seems to have some understanding that Maddie isn't here, and seems pretty unhappy that she isn't, her understanding isn't terribly deep or persistent at this point.
It's still difficult to come home from work and not see Maddie. Or to walk around the neighborhood without the dog. At this point in her life, Maddie wasn't doing the amazing things that she did in her prime, so it's more the overall routine that I miss. She was just there. Loitering around the kitchen. Helping with the yardwork. Jumping into the back of the car to accompany us to Target in the 'burbs or wherever we happened to be going. I'm so accustomed to thinking, "I'm going to 7-11 (or Oscar's store or Ricardo's store Griffin Market - two of the little bodegas in our neighborhood) and I'll take Maddie along and she'll wait outside for me" that it's really jarring, and not a little disorienting and depressing, to go by myself.
One thing that I really miss is her ability to "clean up" after the kids. Neither of the kids is a terribly neat eater at this point. Teddy, in particular, is quite a slob. So we end up with lots of rice or peas or whatever on the floor after dinner. And cereal all over the little breakfast table in the morning. In the past, I never gave much thought to these spills, as Maddie would invariably clean them up at some point. But now, they just sit there. So we have rice under the dinner table from a couple of days ago, waiting for Abby or me to vacuum it up. Even when I'm cooking dinner, I find that I'm amazingly careless about scattering little scraps on the floor during my food prep because, in the past, I could always count on her to take care of them.
Margaret knows that Maddie isn't here. (Not surprisingly, Teddy is basically clueless, although he has called her name or mentioned her a few times. But there's no depth to his mentions of her.) Yesterday, when we came home, Margaret yelled "Maddie!!" as we always do, then casually asked "Where's Maddie?" when the dog didn't appear. But she headed right for the bathroom without waiting for a response and didn't belabor the point. Nor did I. (By the way, it's exactly this sort of casual event - calling "Maddie" when we open the door after getting home - that is so freakin' difficult for me.)
Today, she was a bit more persistent, although not at the obvious time when we got home. "Where's Maddie?" she asked as we walked home, partly because she was whining about things in general and decided that this was a reasonable thing to whine about. "Well, Maddie got sick and had to go to the doctor," I told her. "But she'll miss us," Margaret replied. I told her that we'd talk about it later. Then when she asked the same question as we drove to Target to get stuff for her birthday party - again the type of situation where I really miss the dog because she would always be there in my rear view mirror as we drove somewhere after jumping into the back with a casual "Maddie up!" - and got the same response, she said, "But she'll miss us. And we'll miss her."
I don't think that Margaret can possibly understand the situation, even if she notices Maddie's absence. I think that I'll probably deflect her questions forever. I won't really lie to her (which some friends in Chicago suggested - "Maddie's gone to a farm" or something like that), but I'm not sure that it's even possible to have a meaningful or informative discussion about death with a four-year old.
A final thought is that I've been amazed by how sympathetic people are when they hear that you've lost a pet. I may be a bit inexperienced with grief, having lost few important people in my life. After all, I still have two 90-year old grandparents around (both of whom are going strong) and, until last year, had three. When people have told me that they've lost a pet in the past, I think that I've had a somewhat subdued response, partly because I don't want to intrude on their personal grief and partly because I don't have much experience with it. But when I mention that Maddie died, both to friends in Chicago and to people at work, it's been amazing how sympathetic people have been. And, I have to say, it really helps.
For the last couple of weeks, Maddie has been a bit "off." Really, she started to slow down noticeably around a year ago. We haven't played frisbee in almost a year and even our ball-playing fell off quite a bit in the last few months. To a large extent, we attributed this to old age and arthritis. At her last check-up a few months back, the vet seemed to agree - she's an older dog who's getting pretty stiff after years of "hard work." So he put her on some anti-inflammation meds to help with the arthritis which really seemed to help a lot. I think that the joint pain exacerbated her aversion towards the kids - we felt that she linked the psychic trauma associated with the kids to the physical trauma of her arthritis - so when that pain was gone, she was much more willing to hang out around them, even if she still didn't want to interact with them too much. Way too much drama for her.
But she slowed down even more in the last two weeks. Stopped eating her food with her normal vigor, lagged behind on walks, and showed little interest in ball or most of her other favorite pastimes. I could still get her to prance around with a stick or pull me into the local bodega for a dog treat, but in hindsight, she definitely wasn't her normal self. She also had a blood test that came back bad a few months ago. The vet never quite explained what the blood test results could mean as we decided to redo it and it came back fine, but he did mention ultrasounds and other potential tests to see if we could figure out what, if anything, was wrong with her. Even if we had done more tests, I'm not sure that we could have, or would have, done anything about Maddie's condition. She was an old dog and, it turns out, a sick dog, and at some point, one just has to come to grips with the fact that a dog's longevity is much shorter than ours.
This past weekend, Abby, the kids, and I flew to Chicago. The kids were going to visit the Chicago grandparents, Abby was going to see some of our friends, and I was going to the Cubs home opener at Wrigley with the guys that I had season tickets back in the late 90s. At the airport in DC before we left, we got a call from Rodah, our friend who was taking care of Maddie, who said that Maddie was having trouble walking. Ok, we said, let's see if she gets better over the course of the day, and we'll figure out what to do. But she didn't get better. Rodah said that she was alert, as always, but just didn't seem able to move about on her own. After a few calls with Rodah on Saturday afternoon, between which we tried to figure out what to do and how we could get Maddie to the vet, we finally decided to fly Abby back to DC on a Saturday evening flight from Midway to Dulles. Our thinking was that it wasn't fair to have Rodah, or anyone else, deal with trying to get Maddie to the vet on a Saturday night. And she wasn't improving in a way that made us think that she'd "get over it" by the time we got back on Tuesday. A diabetic episode? (Even if Maddie hadn't shown any evidence of being diabetic before.) Her arthritis getting worse? (Which wouldn't explain why she wasn't eating.) Or something else?
Abby got back around 10:00 PM on Saturday night only to find, adding insult to injury, a car partially blocking our garage. She managed to get out of the garage, picked up Maddie, and took her to a 24 hour vet hospital in Friendship Heights around midnight. I don't know exactly what happened, but my understanding is that the vet people carried her back (because Maddie couldn't walk) to do some tests. A distraught Abby then called me with the test results: they had done an ultrasound on Maddie's abdomen and found significant cancer-like tumors in her stomach, spleen, and other organs. The prognosis was so negative that we decided to have Maddie put to sleep late on Saturday night. Abby sat with her for a while before they finally put her down.
Not that it would have mattered to Maddie, who wouldn't have understood anyway, but I'm very sad that I didn't get to properly say goodbye to her. But at the same time, I probably wouldn't have handled it well at all, so it may be for the best that I wasn't there. And Maddie was getting old - she was arthritic, didn't like the kids very much, and was a shadow of her former self. Given that the next few years would have seen an inevitable decline, I think that we're ok - or at least I'm ok - with the outcome.
Still, I miss her terribly. I especially miss seeing her in the back of the car when we got picked up at the airport today - Maddie would always be in the back, with her head out the window, looking intently for some sign of me when I got picked up at the airport. Or taking her to the grocery store in the car with the kids. Or just going out for a walk with her and the kids to get a bottle of wine or a gallon of milk. Or seeing her in the morning next to the bed or outside the bathroom door when I took a shower. Or hearing the click-click-click of her toenails on the wood floors as she moved around. Or seeing her head poke around the corner of the stairs when we came home after work. Or having her loiter around while I cooked dinner, or the kids ate dinner, waiting for scraps to fall to the floor for her to hoover up. All of the things that she was just "there" for.
But she was old. And we couldn't have done much for her given how sick she was. It's sad, but she had a good run, a life that was really special, and so while we'll all miss her, I think that it was an ok time for her to go.
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We got Maddie at a farm outside of Chicago back in 1998. She was born in August which I know because Maddie was almost exactly the same age as my niece Alex, and they've always been linked together in my mind as 4, then 6, then 8, then 11 year olds. It was taking me longer than I expected to finish my thesis, so Abby and I decided to get a dog. I did some research on the rudimentary internet that existed back in 1998, and we decided to get a Border Collie, the smartest darn dog around. We found an ad for a litter in a newspaper and drove out to the cornfields by De Kalb. The breeder, who was so old that he's probably not around anymore either, had two pups left, one of which was really timid while the other wiggled and squirmed between our legs. Although I don't think that we were set on getting a dog when we headed out there, we fell in love with the second dog and ended up taking her home on Abby's lap, wrapped in a blanket.
Maddie and I spent the next few years as constant companions. I would work throughout the day, but would take breaks to hang out with Maddie. We would walk to Wiggly Field (a dog park in Lakeview in Chicago on Sheffield by the El tracks) or Lincoln Park to play with the other dogs or, even better, to play ball or frisbee in the middle of the morning. Rain or shine - I recall walking from Lincoln Park in full rain gear, covered with mud, with an ecstatic Maddie after playing ball for an hour or so. Then we would take a break in the afternoon to sit on our stoop outside our place on N. Clifton, where Maddie would stand on the ledge next to the stairs and stare, with a cocked head, at everyone who walked by.
When we moved to Pittsburgh, Maddie and I had a similar routine. I would take her into the office with me at CMU where she would lie under my desk while I had office hours or did work. Other days, we would head to the huge parks in Pittsburgh where we would play ball, frisbee, or just wander through the woods. (Maddie was an awesome hiking dog and got to see some great parts of the country in Wyoming, the mountains of Virginia, and other such places.) Or I would work on the swing on our front porch while Maddie stood on the wall around the porch, watching the world go by. The mailman would hand cookies up to her when he delivered the mail. (That's one thing about Maddie - delivery people were always fearful of her. Rightfully so, I suspect, given their typical experiences with other dogs. But they always immediately warmed up to Maddie once it became clear how good-natured she was.)
Once we moved to DC, things got more complicated for Maddie. I was less able to spend free time with her at the drop of a hat. And then the kids came along. Although Maddie handled Margaret's arrival ok, I don't think that she ever coped with the kids very well. Especially once Teddy arrived, and once they started causing all of the drama that surrounds toddlers. Lord knows, I had problems with them, but Maddie just seemed to want them to go away. Or to be able to go away herself. But when she and I went out for walks, sans kids, it was just like old times. Maddie would prance around, grabbing a stick, ball, or whatever else caught her fancy, while I would admonish her for sniffing at something too long or would try to grab the stick from her or would bop her on the head which would send her into a paroxysm of pleasure.
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Maddie was an awesome dog. While I'm sure that everyone says that about their dog, Maddie really was an awesome dog. All of our friends and family seemed to feel that way. And random people in the park or on the street would often stop to comment on what a great dog she was.
She was an incredible frisbee dog. Border collies are renowned for their frisbee skills, so Maddie may not have been that exceptional in this regard, but it was literally breathtaking to watch her play frisbee in her prime. We would go to the big parks in Pittsburgh where I would rear back and fling a floppy frisbee down the field for a hundred yards. Maddie would track the thing, making an arc in her run as necessary, before leaping to catch it with her body fully extended in the air. It was amazing to see, and people on walks would stop to watch as she flew out to catch the frisbee before returning it to my feet. When we went to the big field in Frick Park on misty, foggy mornings, we would leave trails in the wet grass reflecting the routes that Maddie would take to catch the frisbee and return it to me.
She was an incredible "ball" dog. Although I loved playing frisbee with Maddie because it was so amazing to watch, I think that Maddie always was, at heart, a ball dog. And only tennis balls, nothing else. Something about the smell or texture of them, I suspect. She loved to chase and catch the ball. Not only did she do the Border Collie crouch in front of me when we played ball, but she was so intense about it that she ended up wearing a ball-shaped pattern into her teeth from where she carried and chomped on it. One of our better tricks was to scatter a few balls around. I would dance from one to the next, tossing each ball up in turn, and Maddie would shoot from ball to ball, catching and then immediately dropping each of them. Toss it through my legs, and she would catch it. Over her head, and she would jump up, flip sideways, and catch it. Toss it up right next to me, and she would shoot herself forward to catch it. I would bounce from one to the next, tossing them up, her catching and dropping them, then me jumping to the ones that she dropped to toss them up again. Toss up, catch, drop, toss up, catch, drop - exhausting for both of us, but exhilarating to do. She would get wiped out, especially in the summer heat, but I think that she loved it. I know that I did.
She was a beautiful dog. A color that was very unusual for a Border Collie - people often thought that she was a Brittany or a Springer Spaniel or an Australian Shepard. Not only the color threw people off, but also the curly hair. But watch her play ball and you knew - she was a Border Collie to the core. She had long legs and a big barrel chest and walked with a jaunt in her step that resembled the walk of a coyote or a wolf.
And as befits a Border Collie, she was astonishingly smart. When we lived in Pittsburgh, we would occasionally sit in bed running through all the words that she knew. She would sit there, listening and cocking her head, as we ran through word after word that she understood. I think that she probably understood almost 200 or more words and phrases at various points. She could find specific toys, identified by specific names, even if those toys were on a different floor of the house. "Go get your tug toy." "Go get your squeak toy." "Go get your monkey." Maddie would run from floor to floor until she found the exact toy that had been requested. I taught her all sorts of silly tricks. "Roll over," "sit," "shake," and "switch" were child's play for Maddie. Better tricks were those like "weave" - which involved her weaving in and out of my legs as I walked - or "eight" - which involved her doing a figure eight in my legs when we stopped doing "weave." We would play hide-and-go-seek, which we called "ok come find me." I would tell her to sit, would go off to hide in a closet somewhere, and would call "ok come find me." And she would - she was so proud and excited when she would finally find me. (The kids liked this one too, but we didn't play it nearly enough in the last few years because our current house just isn't set up for a good game of "ok come find me.") But it wasn't just the fact that she knew these words, it was the concentration that she put into them. She would sit there, staring at you, cocking her head as you talked, as if she knew, or was trying to understand, exactly what you were saying. My god, it was amazing.
Early on, I taught her to jump up - "Maddie up!" - on any wall that we were passing. So we would walk down Belmont Avenue in Chicago, with Maddie jumping up on various walls and ledges along the way. In DC, her best "up" trick involved walking on the barriers along the bridges in our neighborhood - she could literally stop traffic by trotting along the barrier of the bridges over Rock Creek. And down by the monuments on the Mall, she would jump from one jersey barrier to the next after the powers that be ostensibly put them up for security purposes (but really for entertainment of Border Collies and their owners).
She loved to "help" with yard work. Whether it involved sweeping leaves or shoveling snow, Maddie wanted to be right there in front of my rake or shovel, jumping up to catch whatever leaves or snow I tossed to the side. Before the kids came along, people passing by would inevitably say, "You've got a real helper there." To which I would reply, "She likes to think she's helping." After the kids joined in, with their own rakes or shovels, the comment would be "You've got a bunch of helpers there." "They like to think they're helping," I would reply. Honestly, I can't imagine sweeping our sidewalk without Maddie right in front of the broom as I do so.
And she was an incredibly good-humored dog. I don't think that I ever saw Maddie act aggressively towards another person or dog. With other people, she would vigorously wag her tail, trying to get as close to them as possible. She especially loved visits to the "vacation home," be it Connecticut, Philadelphia, or Chicago. Other dogs she largely ignored because she really just wanted to play ball. But on occasion, another particularly persistent dog could get her to bounce around, playing "tag" as the other dog tried to bowl her over.
We experienced such an encounter this past winter, when a year old lab tried to chase Maddie through the snow in Montrose Park. She bounded through the snow, getting completely exhausted, while the lab tried futilely to catch her. And I remember one such episode at Frick Park in Pittsburgh. We ran into a couple of Bernese Mountain dogs in a big field at the park. They tried to chase her by cutting her off as she looped around them in big circles. But every time they would get near, Maddie would put on a little burst of speed to get past them. It was amazing to watch - I don't think that I've ever seen her run so fast. She would run these big loops, the other dogs would lunge at her, and she would turn it on just enough, but at an astonishing and utterly glorious pace, to elude their paws. It seemed like she knew that, whatever the other dogs did, she could hit another gear that would get her just out of their reach. She was running so fast, with her legs flying, that it was beautiful to watch. Then, after getting past the other dogs one more time, she would slow down and stand there, with her tongue lolling out and a big "grin" on her face as if to say, "Alright, let's do that again. Or better yet, where's my ball?"
First things first - I don't have any new pictures to post. Because both Mama and Papa have been really busy at work, my picture-taking has fallen off lately. As has my blogging, which is certainly obvious to my long-suffering, but incredibly dedicated fans.
The lack of pictures is a real failure on my part because the kids are getting bigger by the day. Margaret is starting to display that skinny, scrawny, long-limbed look that one sees in grade school kids. Every so often, I'll pick her up and will think, "My goodness, she's getting tall and thin." Even Teddy is starting to lose his baby fat. He still has impressive thighs and a good-sized belly, which he likes to display when prompted, but he's also starting to sprout up and, in the process, thin out a bit. (He isn't doing so well with the potty. No resistance, but no interest. At least not at home, although the daycare teachers tell us that he's perfectly happy to use the potty at school. Fits in well with the personality traits that I'm about to describe.)
Beyond these physical changes, there have been two notable developments. The first is an emerging independent streak in Teddy. Actually, it's not so much an independent streak as it is an obstinate streak. Teddy likes the word "No." But as he's gotten older, his language skills have developed such that his use of "no" is more sophisticated than a toddler who just declares "no" in response to everything. So we have: "Teddy, can you eat some of your dinner?" "No, I don't like it." "But Teddy, you liked this the last time we had it." "But I don't like it now!"
Fighting with Teddy about food has become a pretty standard routine. Margaret has never been very picky about her food, especially when a "special treat" looms as a reward at the end of dinner. But Teddy is increasingly reluctant to try things. This is a problem. Because Papa cooks some pretty good food - like mushroom risotto tonight - and knows the boy will like it if he just will try it, but just can't get it into his mouth. He's not picky in the sense that he doesn't actually like most of the food that we eat (and I'm right: when he actually eats most things, he likes them), but he's picky in a strategic way. He knows that its drives Papa crazy and so, quite naturally, he won't eat.
And this obstinance extends to basically everything that Teddy does. "What do you want to do today?" "I want to play tennis." "How about soccer? We can go to the park and kick the ball." "No, I want to play tennis." And then, two hours later, "When are we going to play tennis?" Or "Do you want to go to the grocery store with Papa?" "No." "Not even if you get a croissant?" "No, I don't want a croissant." "But you like croissants." "No, I don't."
So Teddy is a bit difficult at this point. Recently, I have asked Abby whether Margaret was similarly difficult at the same age. She hems and haws which I take to mean that "Yes, all two-year-olds are difficult." But I honestly can't remember getting as frustrated with Margaret as I do with Teddy. Perhaps I should scan through the archives of this blog to see whether I can find a similar post about the girl.
The second development, which is more problematic in the big scheme of things because it may last much, much longer, is the sibling warfare that we have started to experience. Margaret and Teddy bicker and fight. A lot. Over really silly things. Like who has the "blue cup." Or, if they both have blue cups, who has the "light blue cup." It's really amazing what they'll fight over: the table at which the eat breakfast has two identical chairs, but one of them will decide that a certain chair is the preferred chair and must be used. At which point the other decides that he or she cannot do without that specific chair. Despite the fact that it's exactly the same as the other freakin' chair!!!
Now, logic is completely useless in this type of situation. The best that one can do is to either distract them ("Hey, do you see a garbage truck out there?"), fool them ("Here's your plate, Margaret. No wait, that's Teddy's plate. No wait, it's your plate."), or make everything equivalent whenever possible ("You both have light blue cups.") And even if one can get past these little spats about who has what, the kids are constantly banging into each other in ways that lead to conflict. So Teddy will bodyslam Margaret who will begin to howl. Or Margaret will grab Teddy's hat and will dance off with it in a way that causes Teddy to howl. Neither the bodyslam nor the hat are important in the big scheme of things, but both of them know that what they're doing will get a rise from the other. And, more importantly, will get a rise out of Papa.
Here's a microcosm of our current life: on Saturday morning, we woke up with both of the kids in bed with us. (They're doing better about sleeping in their own beds through the night, partly because we bribe them with stickers, but by the dawn, both kids usually end up in our bed at some point.) After an initial negative exchange with Teddy about the grocery store and croissants (as described above), Teddy started prodding his sibling. Margaret: "Stop it Teddy." Me: "Teddy, quit it." A pause. Then more squirming and poking. Margaret: "Stop it Teddy!" Me: "Teddy, I'm serious, knock it off!" A brief lull. Then more squirming, poking, and kicking followed, in a very pained, whiny voice, by "STOP IT TEDDY!!!!!" At which point Mama, always the reasonable party in these disputes, swung Margaret over to her other side away from the boy.
But remember, it's 6:30 in the morning. All of this is going on during the first 10 minutes of our time together. It just foreshadows a long day of sibling disputes, Papa explosions, and Mama interventions.
So we survived the snow. Barely. In the end, DC got hit by a serious amount of snow. Enough to make even a real snow city blink. And it happened twice. The first day of snow was fun, although the kids didn't enjoy sledding very much. Lots more violent bouncing and snow in the face than I remember when I was a kid. Apparently, things like snow in the face, or cold more generally, are kind of overlooked, and subsequently forgotten, when one is 10 years old. By the second snowfall on Wednesday, we were all sick of the snow - we sat there watching, with bemusement, as another vicious storm swept through the area. Trying to figure out what the heck we were going to do for the next few days.
DC never handles snow well, but this was a pretty serious double whammy. The snow basically shut the city down for an entire week. My work was closed, and Abby's work was completely inaccessible. And, most importantly, the daycare was closed. So we spent the entire week together, with Abby and me trying to get work done remotely. Despite the difficulties getting in touch with co-workers. And despite the kids.
I have to say, I have much more respect for stay-at-home moms after the last few weeks. Being at home with kids is a serious chore. They are very demanding little suckers. After a few days, we tried a sort of divide-and-conquer strategy. I would take the kids to Barnes and Noble for a few hours, pulling them down the street in the sled to get there, while Abby did some work. Then they'd either nap or Abby would entertain them while I did some work. Or we'd put them in front of that great, hypnotic technological innovation - the TV - more than we did in the past. (We did manage a great trip to Philly after the snow, which is the source of some of the pics below.)
We've basically gotten back in the swing of things over the last week. Until yesterday. Yesterday morning, the daycare sent out a message that a case of head lice had been reported in the preschool room. And they subsequently told us that both Teddy and Margaret showed some evidence of infestation. Now, the kids are obviously quite blonde, so it's very easy to spot dark stuff in their hair, whether or not it's a nit. And lice are sort of like bedbugs, at least in spirit - you feel so icky that you overreact and throw absolutely everything into the washer at high heat. But, having checked Margaret's head a few times, it would appear that she does have some evidence of lice nits. Which really sucks. You have to wash their hair with this nasty medicine stuff. And you have to work through their hair with a fine-tooth comb. Which is difficult enough with Teddy's short hair - he screamed the whole time - but is really difficult with Margaret's long hair. We'll probably take her to the barber tomorrow to get a few inches taken off, just to make things easier. That will be her second haircut ever.
Hopefully, we'll be able to take care of it. The kids' resistance to the whole process is bad enough, but the paranoia is worse. Frankly, I'm feeling a little itchy myself. It's probably all in my mind, but...
This is the third real snowfall that we've had this winter in DC. The first happened right before Xmas, as I documented in my last post. Just before the first snowfall, I checked around to see if any of the local hardware stores had sleds. No luck. So I later bought a sled at a random store during a trip to NoVa, just in case it snowed again. Luckily, we were able to use the sled when it snowed last weekend, as you can see in the pictures below. It turns out that sledding is a bit more turbulent than I recall from my youth, so the kids didn't like the "big" hills very much. Too much bouncing and snow flying in the face. Instead, they mainly had fun on a little hill. Or they just liked getting pulled around in the sled.
And it's snowing again tonight, so we'll probably be able to use the sled again tomorrow. And, like I said, it's snowing hard. I think that we're supposed to get around 16 inches, which is a pretty respectable snowfall anywhere, but is especially traumatizing for a place like DC which doesn't handle snow very well. We always manage to survive, despite the empty shelves of milk and vegetables at the grocery store this morning - plenty of bok choy, but not much else - but the city basically shuts down when we get a couple of inches, much less 16.
In preparation for the snowfall, we read a bunch of snow-related books before bed last night. We read A Snowy Day - an absolute classic, especially the part when Peter, the little boy in the story, takes a stick, which Margaret always calls a "Maddie stick," drags it along the ground and then smacks a "snow-covered tree." "Down fell the snow - plop - on top of Peter's head." At which point Margaret, and now Teddy, as the consummate mimic, always bangs me on the head. I especially like the conclusion when Peter calls to his friend from across the hall, and they go out together into the deep, deep snow. That line just gets me with a sense of utter tranquility and simplicity.
We also read White Snow, Bright Snow, another classic snow tale. That one also has a great ending as the kids watch for the first robin to the let them know that spring has finally arrived.
We finished with my favorite snow book of all, Snow by Uri Shulevitz. I just love this book. My sister, Rachel, was reading it to Margaret at one point and stopped in the middle to say, "This is a really good book." Indeed.
The skies are gray. The rooftops are gray. The whole city is gray.
Then...
...one snowflake.
"It's snowing," said boy with dog.
"It's only a snowflake," said grandfather with beard.
Then two snowflakes. "It's snowing," said boy with dog.
"It's nothing," said man with hat.
Then three snowflakes. "It's snowing," said boy with dog.
"It'll melt," said woman with umbrella.
A few snowflakes float down and melt.
But as soon as one snowflake melts another takes its place.
"No snow," said radio.
"No snow," said television.
But snowflakes don't listen to radio.
Snowflakes don't watch television.
All snowflakes know is snow, snow, and snow.
Snowflakes keep coming and coming and coming.
circling and swirling, spinning and twirling,
dancing, playing, there, and there,
floating, floating through the air,
falling, falling everywhere.
And rooftops grow lighter, and lighter.
"It's snowing," said boy with dog.
The rooftops are white.
The whole city is white.
"Snow," said the boy.
There are these kids books that get you as an adult. They aren't necessarily the ones that appeal to the kids, nor are they ones that the kids don't like. A Snowy Day is one. Snow is another. I also like Make Way For Ducklings or other books by Robert McCloskey (especially Lentil with its robber baron, the great Colonel Carter). Basically, anything that hits you with its rhythm, flow and good narrative is a book that's fun to read. Dr. Seuss has the rhythm and flow, but I often find his narrative to be lacking. But give me a good Madeline book, and I'm happy.
A hectic few weeks. Started with a monstrous snowstorm in DC before we left. We then drove up to the CT grandparents, dumped the kids with them, and spent a few days in NYC. Sublime. Returned for Christmas Eve and had a crazy time on Christmas morning. Both of the kids were understandably overwhelmed by the event. They either opened random presents, regardless of the intended recipient, or got sidetracked by something that they had just unwrapped. Teddy, for example, alternatively walked around with his guitar, his Wiggles DVD, or his drum. Margaret got lots of girly presents, including two purses and two princess dresses. She was in heaven. Not much else to say, but a bunch of pictures:
We're trying to work out the photo to include with our annual Xmas card. This involves two issues. First, actually getting a picture taken. This is harder than one might think. At least one, if not both, of the kids invariably objects to having a picture taken. Then, when we get them both in place, it's almost impossible to get both of them to sit still, much less to look at the camera. And a smile - impossible! The result is that we all - kids and parents - get very frustrated. I ended up snapping about 50 pictures during our recent session, and the best - in fact, the only remotely acceptable ones - are reproduced below:
I think that I'm leaning towards the first (or maybe the third), but any specific votes would be appreciated. In any event, most of the dedicated (sic) readers of this blog will get the ultimate selection anyway, so you at least get to see some of the others.
Tonight, Teddy ate four pierogies during dinner. I'll explain the relevance of that fact later. But first, a lengthy digression.
We spent the recent Thanksgiving holiday with my Dad's family in Ohio. It's always a big event that draws our increasingly dispersed clan to the same place every year. One of the people that we all come to see is my paternal Grandmother. Grandma M is a bit north of 90 years old and has lived in northern Ohio for her entire life. Despite some recent medical hiccups, she's doing really well. She finishes the crossword in the time that it takes me to puzzle through the first few clues. And last year, she subtly berated me for the shotgun marriage that my employer brokered between a prominent Cleveland bank and its acquirer from Cleveland's arch rival city, Pittsburgh. While one could quibble about the details surrounding that complaint, my colleagues all nodded ruefully when I told them about my Grandma's admonishments. In short, she's one of the most remarkable people I've ever known.
However, it's taken me years to realize that fact. Most prominently, it's taken me years to realize that my Grandmother tends to be right about many things that I pooh-pooh'ed in my early years. Some examples.
Football is a stupid sport. I can remember watching college football games at my Grandmother's house during past Thanksgiving visits. As the broadcast showed pictures of the offensive linemen, my Grandmother would always say, often with a dismissive glance at the TV, "No neck, no neck, no neck" for each picture. At the time, I basically ignored these seemingly irrelevant comments, but now I realize that my Grandmother was taking a subtle, and quite justified, dig at football. Basically, football - specifically, the American version - involves a bunch of really fat guys who crouch down for a few seconds before they all suddenly run into each other and fall down. Then, they all get up and, after a minute or so, do it again. The clearest evidence that football is a stupid sport is that no one else in the world plays football. Unlike baseball, basketball or other American exports, no one (except for Canada which doesn't really count) has latched onto football, regardless of their level of development or links to us. Think about it a bit and find me another major sport that is so unique to a single major country (and I'm not talking about hurling or other minor sports that are practiced in only one country).
To be honest, I do still watch football games. And my Grandmother probably didn't intend to besmirch football to the same extent that I just did. Nevertheless, I've realized that her overall skepticism of the sport is certainly warranted.
Second, interstate highways. When driving around northern Ohio, my Grandma would often take secondary roads rather than highways. I recall being irked by this behavior. Why take the secondary highway when the interstate would get you there much faster? Now, however, I hate driving on the interstate. Even if I'm driving fast, there are too many other people driving fast or not paying attention to what they're doing. As a result, when we head up to Philly, we take an awesome back route up the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. Sure, it takes a bit longer, but it's an immensely more pleasant trip than the hectic drive up I-95 through Baltimore. On a recent trip, the traffic on Hwy 301 was so light that we were able to slow down to watch a bald eagle that was circling just above us. Do that on I-95, and you'll get rear-ended by a big truck.
Next, the length of the Christmas season. I can recall my Grandmother commenting on how the Christmas season starts too soon. At the time, this involved Christmas ads starting just before Thanksgiving. Way too early, my Grandmother would suggest. Now, I see Christmas ads shortly after Halloween. And I hear Christmas music in stores in early November. Completely nuts, especially for the poor folks working in the stores who now have to listen to these hokey songs for an additional full month.
(A separate digression reflecting some words of wisdom from Mark. I often tell my research assistants that every young person should work three jobs. First, fast food. After you see how fast food is produced, you'll never want to eat it again. Which is probably for the best. Second, a warehouse job or other job involving manual labor. After a few weeks of complete tedium, you'll realize that you're going to school so that you don't end up doing such stuff for the rest of you're life. Finally, retail. So that you can see how badly others treat people working in retail, and you'll treat those people with a bit more decency.)
And, at last, pierogies. My Grandmother used to get pierogies from a nearby church where they were made in the basement by immigrant ladies from Eastern Europe. I recall being very suspicious of the whole deal. Potato pierogies? Sauerkraut pierogies?? And, god forbid, prune pierogies???? It wasn't clear that such exotic items were actually edible.
Of course, I now love 'em. Bought six boxes of frozen pierogies from the grocery store when they were on sale this week. The frozen ones are a poor substitute, I'm sure, for those made by the immigrant ladies in the church basement, but Teddy definitely loves them too. He started out with two on his plate, but ended up plowing through four by the end of dinner.
In the end, the lesson is twofold. First, Teddy is a trooper when it comes to food. Not only is he pretty adventurous - in addition to pierogies, he'll eat Indian food or pretty much anything else we put in front of him - but he's got a good appetite. When he puts his mind to it. As in everything, he can be stubborn, but that doesn't usually reflect an objection to a particular dish. Instead, it's just Teddy being his stubborn little self. Once we get something in his mouth, he'll typically eat it and will ask for more.
Second, as I get older, I recognize the wisdom possessed by people older than me. Certainly, I recognize the wisdom of my Grandmother. (Also, my maternal Grandfather who was right when I argued with him about the merits of Broadway musicals vs. Bob Dylan. Dylan certainly is ok, but he's not really that much better than South Pacific or other Rodgers and Hammerstein-type musicals, despite my stubborn insistence to the contrary when I was convinced of Dylan's genius in high school.)
And, I suppose, this second lesson also applies to the wisdom possessed by my parents. Of course, I had far more battles with them when I was young, so it may take a bit more time to acknowledge that they might have, just might have, on occasion, been right about something. (We won't even touch the potential wisdom of the in-laws.)
After all of that blather, some pictures of the last month and a half:
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