Save the Endangered Hasket!

Yes, I mean "hasket." Lu was rhyming words and couldn't find a word that rhymed with basket. She came up with "hasket." Before I could even inquire about what a hasket is, she said, "Um, a hasket is...a hasket is a type of animal." And gave me a complete encyclopedia entry on the species.
Haskets (Hasketus cuddliosus):
• are furry and very nice.
• are not scary at all, not like monsters
• have big bodies and small tails.
• are kind of like foxes.
• rub you on the back very gently when they come up behind you.
• eat leaves.
• mostly live in San Francisco.

Maybe we will visit a hasket sanctuary when we are in the Bay Area in a couple of weeks.

"When I Am 20..."

"...I will need bigger shoes. And bigger socks and clothes. I will be a lady."

As she tells me this, I am envisioning a 20-year-old Lu, wearing a purple t-shirt with a whale on it, pink capris and Mary Jane Keds with socks that don't match, this same scraggly hair. I hope her styling evolves in the next 16 years or she is going to be sitting in her dorm room by herself when she is a 20-year-old lady.

Neighborhood Birds

When we first moved to this neighborhood, we'd see an older man walking a three-legged dog. The man was tall and stooped like a big sea bird, angular and bellied, always dressed in slacks and a button-down with rolled-up sleeves. The dog was some kind of shepherd, with a black and white coat and perky ears. The man limped like his right leg hurt him. The dog had no hind right leg at all. They walked up the street in rain or shine, a beleaguered but happy pair.

Until the day the man walked alone. The great, albatross-shaped man limped down the street by himself, and he has walked dogless every day for three years or so, no matter the weather. I see him and construct the life he walks home to: the TV dinner while watching Jim Lehrer, an hour or so working on his antique camera collection, a cup of tea and a crossword puzzle...who knows. Fair or not, the life I've made for him is lonely.

Until the man walked with a lady. Today, our albatross walked hand-in-hand with a petite white-haired woman. She was handsome, and they looked happy. Maybe she has been there all along, but has never liked walking. Or maybe they have found each other at last, an albatross and a dove.

Stuck on Gum

We have tried to limit her gum chewing to one piece (sugarless) per day. At that rate, she will need 5 months to chew all the gum she received for her birthday (thanks, Michelle, for the ENTIRE SACK OF GUM). But she still hung her head in the trash can and cried on Sunday when I made her spit her gum out so she could eat dinner. I'm like, "DUDE, you have 350 other pieces of gum."

Four


Lu turned four today. When I was around her age, I have memories of thinking, "Why are all these old people always talking about how big I am? Why does Aunt Nita have a beard?" But I remember little else. The me that existed 30 years ago is gone, and someday this Lu will be gone. Here are some things I know about her right now:

• Her favorite color is pink. And red. And yellow. And blue. And purple.
• When she passes gas, she blames it on other people. Dad. The dog. Duck.
• She's sneaky. For now, we are interpreting this as a sign of high intelligence.
• She knows how to use a computer. And an iPhone. And a digital camera.
• When she plays make-believe, she assigns foreign-sounding names to everyone. She also has a dog named "Challenging." And she explained to Jason that "ingenious" is the French word for "pretty."
• She can add and subtract.
• She loves to draw and cut and glue things, then use tape to stick them on the wall. Throughout the house, at Lu level, her artwork is displayed.
• Right before she falls asleep, she sucks her thumb furiously and twirls Duck in the air on the other hand.

Nearer My Dog to Thee

Clifford was always a little crazy, but he is becoming more neurotic by the day. He follows us around the house: "Do you love me now? Do you love me now? How about now?" He is a legendary digger (we'd get calls from the neighbors at our old house saying, "Clifford's got his head stuck under the fence again."). But lately he's been digging IN the house, rooting through closets and messing up furniture. And when he's left outside unwatched for more than one minute, he immediately digs under the fence to run...to the back door. To be with us again. ("How about now? Do you love me now?). He did it today while I was on the phone with Chad, appearing at the back door after a slog through the muddy flower bed. From one angle, he looked like a brown dog.

Stricken by sudden-onset separation anxiety at the age of 9, he desperately wants to be with us every single moment. He sleeps in Lucy's room, or he scratches on our bedroom door to be let in just to put his nose on my hand. The poor dog needs anti-anxiety meds. Or therapy. Or maybe a walk.

Tired

I have been in Dallas since Sunday night having lots of meetings. And, as empty as that might sound, these have been four of the most productive days of my career. But I am tired. I am tired in my smile, my handshake, my knees, my butt, my BRAIN (the listening, feeling, strategizing, politicking, small-talking, LOVE ME/PICK ME regions of the brain). I list between bold confidence and paralytic insecurity. I feel like I have spent four days running for office.

Oh, and I am supposed to be in Philly, but it is snowing in Dallas. IN MARCH. And the people I love are in Austin.