Surrender

Neve: "Mom, can we listen to 'Mommy's Alright/ Daddy's Alright'?"

Me: "Let me see if we have it in the car."

I realize that this should not be a 4 and 6 year old's favorite song, but it is.

I shouldn't love it as much as I do that they point to me and T in the front seat of our car while singing,

"Mommy's alright (point),  

Daddy's alright (point), 

They just seem a little weird (cuckoo sign language), 

SURRENDER, SURRENDER, BUT DON'T GIVE YOURSELF AWAAAAAAAY!"

I shouldn't get teary-eyed as I think about how ironic it is that they, still our 2 biggest fans, are singing songs about their square parents in the backseat.  One day, in the not-so-distant future, we will try hard to win their teenage hearts by going on family vacations, talking to their friends as if they are our own, and making their favorite childhood foods (only to have them say they've already eaten).  We'll try too hard, and they will feel sorry for us.  It's just the way it goes.

Until then, I will continue to enjoy this time and this song.  And hopefully, I will also continue to be able to dodge this question:

Neve: "Mommy? What does 'Mom and Dad were rolling on the couch' mean?"

Fiona: "Rolling is the grown-up word for dancing, Neve.  They do that when we go to sleep."

Me: "Mmmm hmmm."

Older Sister/ Monster

Neve:  "Hey, let's play house."

Fiona: "Nah.  I wanna play Queen and the Lawyer.  I'll be the queen."

Neve:  "What's a lawyer?"

Fiona:  "She's the one that's kind of ugly who shines my shoes, washes my clothes, and reads my mail."

(photo by Oijoy?)

 

Neve:  "Can't we just play house?  I'll be the dad?"

The views expressed here are those of a 6 year old (who clearly does not know what a lawyer is or does) and not necessarily those of a sane person.

Art Instititute of Chicago

Janet watched our girls for a whole day (because she's squeezably sweet like that) while we behaved like civilized adults in the non-kid section of the museum.  We drank coffee, we held hands, and we took pictures of ourselves next to some of our favorite paintings.

(Ellsworth Kelly's East River.  Renamed: Profile of A Boob.)

(Gerhardt Richter's Two Candles.  Renamed: Everyone Blows This Painting.)

Even when the children are gone, you can't really get rid of the child.

For The Love of Breakfast

On our way home from a start-to-finish amazing vacation, we stayed overnight in Cincinnati.  I'd never been, and I was not expecting much.  But wow... I loved it!  It's all compact and urban, but kinda in the middle of rolling hills and lush countryside.  And, in my world, the best way to gauge a city is by their diners.  Terry's fancy phone led us to Tucker's.  It was amazing and delicious and cheap.  And there was a nice mixture of tattoo-covered hipsters and thugs and fat foodies eating there.  And the owner (Tucker) was so nice.  And his 90 year old mother made our breakfast over a cast iron skillet in the back with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth.  (I just ruined any chances of my mother stepping foot in there.)  And the huevos rancheros changed my life.

Prepare yourself for lots of pictures from lots of other places we visited.  (We don't get out of the tri-state area much, so we think everything that is not the dirty south is amazing.)

Greetings from Chicago

Oijoy and co. say hi too.  

{happiness in the midwest}

The Bleeding Heart and The Cynic

On our way to a friend's house for dinner yesterday, we pass a man (probably in his mid-50's) from the neighborhood who is walking home from the train station.  He is dressed in very normal clothes- jeans, collared shirt, shoes, and holding a folded umbrella under his arm.  Honestly, I would have not even noticed this man had I not heard this from the backseat:

Neve: "Oh no!  Mom, stop the car!"

Me: "Why?"

Neve: "That man needs our help!"

Me: (I happen to be stopping at a stop sign as she says this, so I look to my right and notice the man who appears to be doing just fine without my help.)  "Why does he need our help?"

Neve: "Because... (rolling her 4 year old eyes)... he's poor.  And he's carrying a walking stick.  Because his legs don't work."  (You're right.  I should really step out of my insulated life for a second to take a look at all the suffering of those who don't have the luxury of driving a block away for dinner like us.)



I wanted to say this:

"Neve, it's an umbrella, not a cane.  And he's not asking for help, nor does he look as if he needs help.  And (sadly) we are women who shouldn't go around offering our car as a taxi service to strange men.  And lastly, poor?  Seriously?  That's just called walking... something Mommy clearly doesn't do enough of with you and your sister."

But I couldn't say that because Fiona injects this little nugget of 6 year old wisdom:

Fiona: "Neve, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, BUT... some people are trying to trick you.  They want you to think they can't walk, but they really can."

Me: "Like who?"

Fiona: (exasperated sigh) "People in wheelchairs who hold cups?!"

Neve: "Did you even see what my eyes see-ed?"

Me: "Neve, hold on.  Fiona, why would someone do that?  What do you think they want?"

Fiona: "Um, money?  (pause, 1...2...3...) and little girls?  To kill?"  (Right.  How very naive of me.)



She ends her sentence just as we pull into the driveway of our friends, and they jump out of their car seats and run up to the door before I had a chance to say... I don't know what I would have said actually.

Poor dude is probably just hoping to get home after a long day of work, take a nap, and watch a few episodes of Dirty Jobs and Modern Marvels.  (Isn't there some unspoken understanding that people who prepare for rain are usually upstanding folks?)  And here one daughter is ready to throw him a benefit (for nothing) while the other is ready to prosecute him (for nothing). 

This is why I'm a middle-roader.