Istanbul? Constantinople?

Is hard to believe that in 15 hours, we will be in Istanbul. We will be gone for two weeks, traveling throughout Turkey. I don't know how we'll manage to be away from Lucy that long. I must have kissed her 42 times this morning. She was annoyed. "MOM, stop. I am trying to make wonderful music." She continued banging chopsticks on a pot.

Jason dropped her off at school, then called me as he drove. He said, "My heart hurts." Mine does too.

Tennis, Anyone?

When I was 12 years old, I took tennis at camp. I somehow managed to hit myself in the face with the racket, knocking the two front brackets of my braces off. It's a great way to meet people in the cafeteria in seventh grade.

Luckily, Lucy seems to be showing more aptitude than her mother. Ben and Mary Ellen took her to play tennis in the neighborhood this weekend, and according to Ben, she showed pretty good coordination and remarkable strength (ie, she held the racket). Come on, scholarship!

A Bad Idea

This afternoon I found Lucy in her room. Holding a golf club aloft. As near to the ceiling fan as she could get it. Standing on tiptoe. As though to stick the golf club in the ceiling fan. Which was turned on.

Some questions came to mind:
1) Why did she have a golf club?
2) Why did she want to stick it in the ceiling fan?
3) What would have happened if she'd been 4 inches taller?

Oh, and why wasn't she being supervised? All I know is, when I was little, I played with dolls and books. When her dad was little, he cut his leg open with a saw and set the desert on fire. You be the judge of whose genes are winning.

Granddaddy Juice

My dad, Jim Donaho, is settling into old age with not nearly enough to do besides watch TV and smoke. He comes up here from the Valley to visit us once a month (and more importantly, have his poker game, go to pub trivia, see his shrink and play the occasional game of bridge). When he comes to visit, he brings liters and liters of Diet Coke, which he drinks about one of every day, as well as this V8 Fusion stuff, which could be dismissed as sugary, horrible juice except that is like a V8, only sweet. As in, it has the nutrients of 8 fruits AND vegetables. Or something. But it is the most nutritious thing he ingests on a regular basis.

And Lu loves it. She calls it Granddaddy Juice. She is allowed to have one sugary, nutritious serving every day, even when he is not around. She also loves her granddaddy, and when I see him patiently play with her, I remember the dad he was to me as a little girl. Always a man of indulgent juices, he let me drink heavily doctored “coffee milk” on Sunday mornings starting around age four. When he and Mom divorced, we’d go on Tuesday night dates to the Hunan Restaurant, then rolling skating (i.e., I’d rollerskate; he’d read a book, smoke and wave every single time I rolled by and said, “Hi, Daddy.”).

This is a man who lives to be ruled by women (there’s a long and storied history of them in his past, my mother, stepmother, grandmother, sisters, and me, most notably). Lucy can tell this, and she orders him around more fiercely than anyone. Plus, she worries about him: why does he smoke? where is he right now? where does he live? why doesn’t he live here all the time? maybe we should call him.

Tonight, when I kissed and hugged him goodbye, he said, in classic Lu style, “Wait, we forgot to high-five.” Poor guy, he is taking orders from a whole new generation of women. And I think he’s lucky for it.

Never Too Old For a Unicorn

Jason and his parents took Lucy to Terra Toys to buy a five-sticker treat (we are trying to reinforce extra good behavior and teach math at the same time). She went there intending to buy a tea set, but a chubby little stuffed unicorn came home with her instead. She showed him to me proudly, prompted by Dad to tell me his name:

"Mom, look, this is Bruiser."

"Bruiser?" I ask.

"Yeah! Isn't he so pretty?"

"Uh," I say to Jason, "I gather you named him Bruiser."

"Yes," Jason replies. "But I really wanted to name him Horny."