Lost: Duck

Duck has been missing since Friday. We're pretty certain he's in this house somewhere (as he is no longer allowed to leave), and besides, nothing is officially lost until it's been gone for a good week (a rule that applies to car keys, cell phones and credit cards). What we're less certain about is whether we're actually looking for him. For one, Lucy has not been sucking her thumb much at all in his absence. For  two, she is missing him, but not desperately. She seems almost nostalgic. Last night, as she whimpered a little, I told her lost Duck stories, like the time I went through the trash at Ski Shores to find him. Or the time we left another, earlier Duck at Guero's, his dishrag-colored self surely tossed in with the rest of the restaurant laundry. We imagined that some busboy would be wiping a table and look down to find Duck smiling up at him: why is there a duck on the end of my dish rag? Or maybe he'd be folded around the silverware, a Duck napkin. We laughed thinking about what Duck might be doing out there on his own.

It really would be so BORING if he were just crammed in the couch cushions or under our bed.

Did You Know...

...that Lu brought peace to the first grade? There were two rival teams that were fighting (Arman's team and Lucy P's team) and Lucy got them to be friends and not fight (and also some of Lucy P's team was disqualified). And maybe someday Lu should win the Nobel Peace prize, like Jimmy Carter and Barack Obama. (Ed note: Above shared anecdote prompted as Lu watched Sunday morning talk shows re: Egypt. I would almost rather tell her where babies come from than try to explain the situation in the Middle East.)

Oh, Hello.

Forgive the embarrassing delay since my last post. I know all seven of you have been checking this blog hourly for news of our recent adventures. Will write in more detail, but recent highlights include:

A trip to Portland for Kate. Rain, productive work stuff, drizzle, fun exploration of a new city, mist, amazing meals, great hosting by a dear friend and his family, more rain. Oh, and the sun came out once and everyone stopped what they were doing to look toward the windows, like an alien ship had landed. I loved Portland, but I may have gotten seasonal affective disorder over a long weekend.

Some new teeth for Milo. Remember my sweet, docile, grinning boy? Good. Keep that nostalgic picture of him when he's biting your face and throwing his cup on the ground in a rage. I really hope it's those molars. Otherwise he's headed for prison.

Haircuts for Milo and Lu. They may have actually received the same hipster bob at Bird's Barbershop. Pretty dang cute.

A trip to NYC for Kate and Jason. Despite the blizzard, I made it up for some business meetings that went very well (thanks in part to us all being in stockinged feet in our client's living room during a snow day?), and Jason was able to join me. We ate and drank our way through 29th Street and below, walked it off in the snow, held hands, marveled at the city and generally remembered what it's like to have a marriage instead of just the small business that is our family. Oh, but then we missed them, so we came home.

Overheard

During tonight's piano practice. Lu: I'm NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER GONNA GET IT. I'm HORRIBLE. EVEN YOU PLAY BETTER THAN ME. To play this right, I am going to have to play OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER [bangs a gloomy low note for emphasis]...

Milo barks in the background as he pushes a toy shopping card toward the bathroom, intent (as I later discover) on putting a load of toys in the toilet.

Lu: STOP HIM. I am telling you — I need no noise! NO NOISE! ARRRGGGHH.

Open Letter to the Patrons of Fonda San Miguel

Queridos, Que puedo decir mas que...lo siento.

I'm sorry that we interrupted your elegant interior-Mexican dining experience with our noise and our mess. I'm sorry about the milk that may have shot over to your table. I'm sorry about the grease or cheese that you may find smeared on the hem of your jacket later tonight, courtesy of a tiny, wandering Godzilla. I'm sorry about you having to hear the conversation (with the Noisiest Person in America who has no inside voice) about what kind of queso is this and I like the other kind better, you know, the runny kind? Is this even queso?

I'm sorry if your enjoyment of your delicately flavored, anise-infused black beans was diminished upon seeing them smeared, beard-like, on our son. I'm sorry about the clean-up necessary after we left, and anything about your meal tonight that may have felt more like Taco Cabana than Fonda San Miguel.

Really, we belong at home. Or at a stable. Either way, you won't be seeing the whole family any time soon.

De nada,

Kate

Imagination = Resolution

Seems like for the past couple of years, my New Year's resolution has been to be happier... ...to experience all the joys and blessings of my life.

...to wring my hands less over what was missing and where I was failing.

...to put more energy into the good and less into the bad.

...to do more things I love and enjoy myself while I do them.

I am proud to report  that at last I've begun to see progress on this multi-year resolution. I had a breakthrough this spring that made me start to think about possibilities. On some of the mornings when I was working from home, I would put Milo into the baby jogger and run around the neighborhood just west of ours. We'd run up and down the hills among these incredible mid-century houses and I'd talk to him: "Milo, won't it be so great when we live in that house? We will have a different front door, but that's a perfect house for us."

And one day I ran past this big strange house, completely clad in aluminum siding, like a barn crossed with a ship. It had this perfect studio in the back with garage doors that opened onto a little terraced yard with rye grass. I became obsessed with the house, even though Jason thought it was weird, and so did Pie and Adam. I found out that while it was for sale, it was indeed weird, and too expensive, and not my house, even though I had begun to envision it as mine.

I realized I was not envisioning my house or my perfect studio, I was imagining my life: me working, by myself, in a sunny room, with my coffee. And that is what I am doing right now, if not in a perfect little studio (yet).

What I started to imagine while talking to Milo last spring eventually allowed me to leave a job I loved (but was making me into a person I didn't) and make room to be happier. Isn't that something?

p.s. If you have anything you need to figure out, you are welcome to take Milo for a walk -- he is an excellent listener.

Overheard

Lu: "Sometimes Ms. Brunello tells me, Lucy, you are skating on thin ice with me.' And I know what that means!" Dad: "What?"

Lu: "It is an idiom that mean she had had it up to here with me and I am about to get a consequence."

Dad: "That's exactly what that means. What are you doing when she does that?"

As Lu is describing falling out of her chair for laughs, Jason stifles laughter and proudly mouths, "IDIOM?!"

Christmas (nervous) Break (down)?

The first morning of Christmas break did not go well. First Lu shut Milo's tiny fingers in her door. There was some minor blood and squishing, and some major histrionics from both smusher and smushee.

Then, well...we have entered what Pie calls the "Poo Paws" phase of development, where one child uses the potty and doesn't flush, and the other child is fascinated with the contents of the toilet.

So when Milo toddled out of the bathroom, brandishing a Rock Band drumstick with great sop of toilet paper dangling from the end, you can imagine the motherly athleticism that went into stopping him at the door of the bathroom. I wish Bob Costas had been there to describe the whole maneuver.

Good news, readers: it was only number one. And I Clorox-wiped the affected drumstick and area, including Milo.

Am hoping days two and three of Christmas break go better. Oh, and I love you, Trina.