Fastly

Harper enjoys adverbs. Her current favorites are 'fastly' and 'hardly' and she likes to use them in the same sentence. "Mommy, I'm going to run fastly to the swings and I want you to push me very hardly on my back so I can be like a bird!" I was downloading some pictures today and saw this one from two years ago when I was maybe 6 weeks pregnant with Hudson:
And this one is from yesterday. We were heading to the zoo with the Grandparents Pate. I was the only one who cared that we were taking a picture apparently.Fastly, indeed.

Harper tells a story to a boy at the park and he does not care

Harper found a big kid basketball at the park last week and headed over to the half court to have a go at it. Mostly she had trouble concentrating because I put Hudson down and she was convinced he was trying to steal the ball from her even when he was toddling in the opposite direction. "He might get HURT," she explained with false benevolence, to justify her hoarding. Just then, a group of three boys wandered over. I know one of them. He is seven and has a really nice nanny and two younger sisters. He grabbed the ball when Harper put it down and I asked if it was his. He conceded it was not, so I told him they could all play with it, but that they would have to share. They did an okay job for a few minutes but Harper's turns were becoming increasingly shorter so she wandered off and left them to their Big Boy game. She stood at the edge of the court and was jumping up and down making this grunting noise while waving her arms above her head. I inquired. "I'm trying to get the moon, Mommy!" I looked up and sure enough, there it was. She was getting a fair amount of air (let's say 3 inches) and her little face was so resolute, her little voice so strong ("Come HERE, Moon! I'm TRYING to GET you!) that I do believe that she really believed that if she just kept trying, that moon would indeed be gotten. Just then one of the boys, who looked to be about four, but was probably older because he was wearing those shoes with the wheels in them, wheeled close by. Harper, mistaking his proximity for interest, (a common problem, I am afraid, among girls and boys) began to explain her efforts. "We have a story! About Little Bear!" and with that, he wheeled away. She let her story trail off and went back to jumping. She didn't seem bothered. I, however, felt as though someone had shoveled out my stomach. It's not like I expected the kid to stop the basketball game and gather his friends around in a listening circle, I just thought that he probably should. So I went over and let her tell me and Hudson all about Little Bear and his space helmet. Here she is having a picnic with her puppy Joshua, who listens to every word of every story.

Not this tide

On Masterpiece Theatre last night there was a movie, called "My Boy Jack," that will either make you want to vote for John McCain, or it will make you not want to vote for John McCain. It had nothing to do with John McCain. It depicts Rudyard Kipling and his son Jack, who, in spite of extremely poor eyesight, was allowed to train as an officer (solely because of his famous father's influence) and, at age seventeen, go off to France to lead men into battle during WWI. Kipling, a staunch supporter of Britain's entry into the war against Germany, gave fiery speeches that inspired young men to enlist in the cause. He was also (according to the movie--it might have been for dramatic effect) part of a committee that received all of the dismal news from the front and decided how it would be disseminated to the public so people wouldn't lose heart. He heard, in excruciating detail, the stories of the annihilation in the trenches and he still encouraged his only son to go in pursuit of valor. So I happened to read an article about John McCain's two youngest sons in the paper yesterday. The elder is a junior at the Naval Academy and the younger is 19 and, as an enlisted Marine, has already served a tour in Iraq. The war at home, indeed.

Today, my boy Hudson is still small enough to fit under my chin as I rock him on my chest.

Necessity is the mother of invention

I found the cord. Here is Harper playing a violin sonata on her guitar. It sounded a little like Vivaldi, but she claims it was The Scooter Duck Song. Which is what she calls "Beautiful Scandalous Night" because apparently there is a picture on the screen at church when Mr. Seay sings this song that looks, to Harper, like a duck on a scooter. It's a mysterious thing, the toddler mind. She was singing along with "Beautiful Scandalous Night" on our way to church yesterday morning and she got to this lyric, "Cleanse your heart and soul, in the fountain that flowed.." She got pensive for a moment, then, "Would Flo like the Scooter Duck Song? Her name is in there." Flo is a character in the movie "Cars." My kid is already superimposing the sacred on the secular. All of those Francis Schaeffer bedtime stories are finally paying off!

I finished Slaughterhouse-Five yesterday. It's bizarre and affecting stuff. Fiction (and, in this case, satire) really is the perfect conduit for making a historical event (in this case, the fire bombing of Dresden in WWII) seem so vivid. It leaves you shaking your head at the end, saying, "How could I not have KNOWN about this?" I did the same thing a few years back after reading a novel set during the Armenian genocide. I think my good friend Sting must have gotten the title and theme of his song "Children's Crusade" from Vonnegut. Conspire as they may, I still cry every time I hear the national anthem or watch those Marine recruitment commercials. There's no amount of satire or soaring anti-war lyrics that will ever change that.

We watched "The Darjeeling Limited" this weekend. I thought the "making-of" featurette was more compelling than the movie, if we're honest. I find Wes Anderson and his Vision (not to mention his skinny suits) more interesting than the actual movies he makes. I also watched, regrettably, "Enchanted." I'm not making fun of you if you liked it. I just thought it was weird and kind of disturbing. **SPOILER ALERT!** Why exactly did the stepmother have to be a terrifying dragon in the last 15 minutes of the movie? I guess it's my issue with most Disney movies, even the totally animated ones--the evil creatures are so over the top. "Cars" is a notable exception. The bad guys actually have more human-like flaws--arrogance, vanity, the tendency to push other cars out of the way in order to win the race. Plus you get Randy Newman and James Taylor. "Enchanted" had THREE songs nominated for Academy Awards and I found them all pretty annoying. Ew, AND, **SPOILER ALERT #2!!** there are lots of roaches during one of the songs.

I watched the last 3 minutes of regulation time of the Kansas-Memphis game. I've never seen desperation fouling work that well. I had watched a few of the games while we were at my parents' because my mom is an ardent basketball fan. (My dad, interestingly, is an ardent basketball napper. He prefers NASCAR) It drives her crazy because if I come into a game after it has started I will always pull for the team that is losing, or for the school that I think is more academically impressive. She was really into the Stanford-Texas game and I started congratulating the Stanford players when they made points. "WHY are you cheering for Stanford??" she demanded to know. "Because it is really hard to get into Stanford--imagine if you had to make decent grades AND go to all of that basketball practice. And out-of-town games!" One of the many things I love about my husband is that he doesn't care at all about watching sports. In fact, on Super Bowl night, I watched "Persuasion" on Masterpiece Theatre, and I think there was a Final Four game on while I watched the second half of "Sense and Sensibility" last Sunday night. Last night I watched "A Room With a View." It was just okay. They changed the ending. Speaking of ending, I should. Here's a picture of a rare moment of sibling cooperation and fun:

falls to the earth

Margie and Robin have some really lovely spring photos over at But Be Like the Sun and Fruit on the Vines. You should go look at them because I can't find the cord to download any new pictures. Hudson has been walking for 3 weeks now and we still have not captured it on video because the memory stick is full on the camera. Pretty soon we'll be like that commercial where the parents have the 21 year old taking a bath in the kitchen sink so they can finally film it. Even though I don't have a visual I do have a spring story to tell. I have been watching, for around 45 minutes now, a baby bird who is stuck on our little patio. Actually, I think he's technically a fledgling. He spent the first 20 minutes or so staring at the brick wall. Then his mom brought him a snack and told him something. He then hopped up on the tricycle and started flexing his wings a little. Then he did this little deep knee bend exercise over and over. Then he fell off the tricycle. Then his mom brought him another snack. Then the leaf blower guys came by and he scurried around probably thinking the apocalypse had come and here he was with no mommy and a tricycle that he's too little to ride. He has now crouched under one of the pedals and appears to be napping. I stood at the door for awhile and quietly, as do the little sparrows in Peter Rabbit, implored him to exert himself. I thought about trying to help but from the looks of his mother they are some sort of jay and I think they can be rather aggressive when they feel their young are in danger. I intervened with nature a few days ago at the duck pond just outside the zoo. We were enjoying watching some new ducklings and this nutria (it looks kind of like an otter/rat) paddled over and seemed a little too interested in one of the ducklings who had wandered away a little. The mother duck didn't seem alarmed but I didn't really want Harper and Hudson and Izzy and Abby to have their duckling experience marred by carnage so I started clapping and scolding the nutria until it slithered back into the water. It's possible that this was more alarming to Harper than the alternative would have been. The entire way home she asked, over and over, "Mommy why were you clapping and being loud to that otter? I don't want to see the ducklings next time Mommy. Mommy why were you clapping and being loud to that otter..."

Harper has found a house she likes. We pass it when we walk to the park and we've watched it being built over the last few months. She said on Friday, "Our house is almost finished Mommy." Did you say OUR house, Harper? "Yes. That is going to be our house. For Harper Anne and Daddy and Hudson and Mommy." (I was pleased that Hudson was included.) Just for fun I decided to look up the house on har.com and it costs $2.2 million. Her hopes, I'm afraid, will have to be dashed.

so it goes. (second draft)

Kurt Vonnegut stole my idea. In 1969, which was before I was born. Unless you ascribe to his whole "unstuck in time" idea. It's right there on page 39 of Slaughterhouse-Five, which I am reading with my book club:

"She did develop a terrific hankering for a crucifix, though. And she bought one from a Santa Fe gift shop during a trip the little family made out West during the Great Depression. Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.
And the crucifix went up on the wall of Billy Pilgrim."

So much for originality. Solomon was SUCH a know-it-all. It's my first experience with Vonnegut and I am a fan so far. I suppose there are more embarrassing sources from whom I could have unintentionally stolen an idea for a short story.

The kids and I have been with my parents for a few days. Sadly, someone has already written a surprisingly successful novel (it's titled The Liar's Club--can't remember the author--Mary Karr?) about growing up in and around Port Arthur. Her experience was vastly different from mine but I think she probably covered all of the literary bases. Alas. ***[There was a story here and I have removed it because as I tried to go to sleep last night, my inner Mr. Knightley reminded me that while there are indeed many things that are ripe for satire (the unfeeling English government during a potato famine, dictators with silly hair, the fact that a mega church might actually have a paid staff member whose title is Minister of Sports and Recreation, a scout leader with comical grammar and questionable geography skills..it's an extensive list) there are certain people who deserve our compassion and not our derision. It was badly done. Forgive me.]*** There's no better place, incidentally, to observe the sorry state of American retail than Central Mall on a Tuesday morning.

One more quick vignette from the Golden Triangle. My dad and I took the kids to the playground behind my elementary school while my mom hosted a baby shower on Saturday. There was a cub scout troop under the pavilion earning a badge by learning to play marbles. The troop master had the boys stand on the faded United States of America map that was painted on the basketball court. Here's how it went:

Troopmaster: Okay! Everyone on the United States of America!
Cub Scout: Can I stand on Alaska?
(long pause)

Troopmaster: Sure! (not sounding entirely sure) That's one of the United States of America! Okay, how many of you never played marbles before? (all but two of the scouts raised their hands. Mr. Alaska kept his down. He has played marbles before.) Now SEE THERE?! THIS is what Cub Scouts is ALL ABOUT!! You could have went your whole life and not learned how to play marbles!! Now let's hand out the awards. Parents, don't be disappointed if your scout don't get first place. My own son come in last place!

At this point, Harper had lost interest so we drifted away before her grammar could be completely corrupted. Hm, You Can't Go Home Again would be a good title for a novel.