Everybody Loves Jason

Would you look at this guy? He looks like someone you would cast in his own sitcom about being a dad. The show's all about how wacky it is to be a graphic designer dad of a precocious 4-year-old, married to her crazy mother. He is perfect for the role. The show would be nothing without him.

(Thanks to Jason for...everything. Thanks to Frank for the photos.)

They're Great!

This morning, we had a big fit over Frosted Flakes. My dad is visiting, and when he comes up, he brings his own food because he exists only on processed flour, sugar, caffeine and nicotine. And no, he hasn't had a heart attack yet.

So this morning Lucy goes ape over "Granddad's tiger cereal," which Jason let her have one time when I wasn't looking. Well, this morning, I am looking. And she is not having any.

There is definitely a moment, during the crying and carrying on, where I am tempted to say, "Fine, have your bleeping tiger cereal! And here's some coffee and a cig, while you're at it!" Instead, I send her to her room for a timeout. When she emerges, sniffling, she has come up with a great compromise: tiger cereal is only for special occasions, like her birthday. I am not sure how we're gonna get five candles in a bowl of cereal, but okay.

Wakes Up on Right Side of Bed

Lucy has been a complete jerk for the past few days: whining, throwing tantrums, arguing about everything. A couple of days ago she said, "Mom, I am having a bad day because I am really tired."

Last night we got her to bed at a halfway decent hour, let her sleep in a little this morning, and she is herself again. Which is a good thing, because I was about to drop her off at your house.

The New Guy

When I tell Solomon the story of his birth, it will go something like this:

Your mother, my friend Pie, went into labor on a Friday night while we were attending a couple of great parties in your neighborhood. She told us you were maybe coming that night — it's a good thing you didn't because your dad and I were, um, definitely taking advantage of having your mom as a designated driver.

And then we waited.

Your mom claims to have been super grouchy, but she wasn't. She's just a planner. She did not do well with not being able to make plans more than 24 hours in advance. Because, you know, you were going to be here ANY MINUTE.

Except that three weeks and three days passed. When I didn't talk to her for more than four hours at a stretch, I was sure you were coming. You weren't (at least not imminently). She eventually had to unplug the phone. I resorted to calling your father's cell.

The night before you were born, she said, "I am just so bored with myself. I need for something to happen. I need to be doing the next thing."

Around seven the next morning, your dad called. FINALLY. Three weeks of labor is quite a build-up. At the hospital, your mom was serene and gorgeous (if a little hungry). She brought you into this world with athletic grace.

And here is the reason I even get to tell you the story of your birth: I WAS THERE. I watched you come into this world, with your giant feet and boy parts, 8 pounds and 14 ounces, as blue as a dang Smurf. It was a privilege. You were worth the wait.

Two Best Things

Every day, we send Lucy off to have her own life for 8-9 hours. It's the choice we've made, and it works for us. But occasionally it breaks my heart. Particularly when I ask her, "Lu, what did you do today?" And she mumbles, "I don't know" or "Nothing."

I don't know?! Nothing?! These are the sullen answers of a 12-year-old. Where is the enthusiasm? Where is the childish detail? Where is the information about her secret life?

Then I read something. Or heard it on NPR. Or Liz told me to do it. Whatever the source, this simple question has opened up a new pipeline of info from Lu: Tell me the Two Best Things That Happened to You Today. Actually the Internet/NPR/Liz said to ask about the two best AND worst things, but I thought I would start with the best and see how much information I could glean. The answer: a lot.

Since I have started asking the Two Best question a week ago, she has offered the following, among others:
"When we got to do stretching."
"When I got picked up by Alex's mom for a play date at her house."
"When we watered our tomato plants."
"When I got to go to the Farmer's Market with Laney."
"When we got ice cream with one piece of bubble gum in it."
"When we talked about the weather in Spanish. ¡Esta nublando!"
"When we got to blow up a bunch of balloons for Anesh, and Anesh's dad came to pick them up so he could bring them to Anesh at the hospital." This came today, and while we hope to soon find out what is wrong with Anesh, without the Two Things, I would not have known even this much. Get well, little man.

It's interesting how often she uses the phrase "got to," as in "allowed to," which explains how at the mercy of other people you are when you're four. She is at the mercy of me, her teachers, all adults. How sad for her. Meanwhile, I am at the mercy of THE MAN. THE LAW. THE PRICE OF GAS.

I would kill to be four. Her Two Best Things always beat mine.