The children distribute the presents.
Chloe decorates her new diary.
Sophie is unable to contain her excitement about her new Diego video.
Chloe and her cousin give each other wet willies on the train to New York.
The motley crew (minus the two moms, who are taking the photos) in Central Park.
What I do know is that she loves him so much that she allows him to play with her barnyard animals. And she expresses her admiration in other ways too. Like letting him hold her sacred burp cloths (which she treats like Peanuts’ Linus treats his blanket) and her little lamb, Shirley. She’s even managed to convince him to watch her morning cartoons with her, thanks to which he’s learned that Dora the Explorer has a cousin named Diego. If he asks for one of her grapes, she happily shares with him, and only him. A request from anyone else is flatly refused. And when he enters the dining room in the morning, she greets him by jumping up and down, pointing at him and screaming in glee.
As far as she’s concerned, he might as well be a rock star. I’m sure she would adore a poster of him over her crib. I’m not sure it would go with her bedroom decor, but it would certainly make her day.
Too tired to write much this evening. Was up in the middle of night thanks to Sophie, who apparently had a nightmare. Then up again at 6:30 AM, thanks to Chloe, who absolutely had to see the presents that Santa Claus left for everyone. You know, in case he changed his mind and removed them by 8 AM.
It was a lovely day, spent among family – eating good food (I don’t think our kitchen has ever had that much of a workout – I even used the microwave as a regular oven), drinking good champagne and wine, and relaxing. The girls enjoyed their presents, and Chloe had only one meltdown, when we pushed her to take a walk with her Papa, aunt, uncle and cousin, and she adamantly refused. Sophie spent most of the afternoon napping (I wonder why…) and when she wasn’t sleeping, she was either eating, playing with her new Play-Doh or her new toy pirate ship, or pushing her shopping cart around the house.
Our relatives also enjoyed themselves, a sentiment that manifested itself by their eating way too much. My oldest nephew, who is 17, said he’s gained about 5 pounds since arriving here – 3 days ago! This is what happens when you come to America (or go on a cruise). You conveniently forget healthy nutritional habits and succumb to gluttony.
Tomorrow’s plan is to confront the crowds at the American Museum of Natural History and to visit Central Park. One can only hope that some physical activity – perhaps strenuous rockclimbing – will help to ease the pain induced by our recent overindulging. To be continued…
When my husband and his siblings were children in the early 1970s, they lived in Poughkeepsie for a couple of years.
In honor of his sister’s visit this week, we bought her a box of Drake’s Devil Dogs, to remind her of those long-ago days in upstate New York.
Disclaimer: I did not intend for the processed little cakes to serve as dessert on Christmas Eve – witness the homemade pear tart in the photo, which I toiled over earlier this morning.
My sister-in-law was justifiably very excited about introducing her kids to her childhood treat. And since we’re flexible and reasonable people, we broke them out, along with the doughnuts (!)she bought at the supermarket earlier today, so that the younger French generation, and Chloe and Sophie too, would have a chance to savor these two classic American delicacies (hint of sarcasm here).
Were the Drake’s cakes overwhelming hits? Let’s just say that nobody threw up and there are still plenty of Devil Dogs left. The photo of Sophie torturing hers with a spoon speaks a thousand words. I’ve captioned it “Death to Devil Dog.”
We spent our first day as New York tourists visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art. All nine of us piled into two cars and trekked into the city. It was ten times more pleasurable than I would have imagined, given that our group included a toddler, two six-year olds and two teenage boys.
Sophie logically fell asleep somewhere during our visit of the European bedrooms. Chloe, other than a few “I’m bored” comments, held up admirably well, and even enjoyed most of the adventure.
I like to think that our warning to her earlier this week – that her French family was expecting a well-behaved little girl – might have actually had a small impact. But if I’m being honest, the real reason is probably the Game Boy – incredibly, she and her cousin took turns without any disputes. Their shared interest in electronic games has allowed them to bond. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m liking Game Boys a lot this week.
My sister-in-law’s youngest son is Chloe’s age. They got along very well today, and Chloe made an extra-special effort to speak in French. I think she quickly realized that she’d have to resort to her Papa’s native tongue if she wanted to have a proper playmate. It seems to be working. The two played Monopoly and video games together, and even danced to, you guessed it, more “High School Musical” songs (I wonder if my brother and I tortured our parents with “Grease” as much as Chloe tortures us with that cloying soundtrack).
Their two older sons are 13 and 17 years old. Real teenagers. Outfitted with cool haircuts, cool clothes and cool technology. My sister-in-law last visited us with her oldest son, seven years ago. We were both pregnant, I with Chloe and she with her youngest. My nephew, 10 years old at the time, slept through practically the whole weeklong trip. Despite the blur, however, he still remembers his introduction to doughnuts. Enough said.
We plan to join them at playing tourists this week and are looking forward to rediscovering some of the New York’s more popular sights. Because of our hectic sightseeing schedule, you may find fewer postings than usual during the next few days. Not to worry, however. I promise not to leave you, my faithful readers, hungering for amusing anecdotes about the girls’ antics. At the very least, I’ll make sure to catch them with the camera, making funny faces for their friends out in Cyberspace.
A pause in our regular programming to bring you some entertainment, courtesy of Chloe, Sophie and Troy from High School Musical. The video truly speaks for itself. Enjoy!
I spent the earlier part of the week visiting my grandmother, who is approaching 90 and has been dealing with serious health issues over the last nine months. All things considered, she’s doing well, at least right now, and I’m glad I took the trip to see her before I start the new job.
Until the other day, that is. I rediscovered it after my own watch’s battery died. My watch is like an appendage. I’m very discombobulated without it. So, as I was looking for another watch that worked, I came across the box containing my dad’s precious watch. I studied the box for awhile. I then thought, maybe I can actually wear it.
I opened the box, and there it was, beckoning me. I put it on. The band is a little too big, but the rectangular face doesn’t overpower my wrist. It actually looks surprisingly nice. So I left it on, and except to shower and sleep, I haven’t removed it since.
Wearing it makes me feel closer to my dad. You see, I haven’t been to the cemetery in a really long time. It’s funny. I still think about him everyday, but I just don’t visit his grave very much anymore. He certainly doesn’t care whether I go or not – he’s dead – but graves are there to be visited, aren’t they? I sometimes feel like I’m breaking a cardinal rule about dead people that requires the living to make pilgrimages to the cemetery on a regular basis.
But now that I’m wearing the watch, I think I’m honoring my father infinitely more than a 5-minute visit to a headstone in the ground. Thanks, dad. I love you and miss you. And by the way, your taste in watches was truly impeccable.
I return to work in about three weeks, and I’m nervous. Not about the job itself, but about closing the chapter on these last eight months with the girls.
Chances are, I’m not going to have another opportunity to be with them, in this way, ever again. They’ll be just fine. I’m not so sure about me. I’m already starting to look back on my time at home with them, thinking that I didn’t do everything I could have done with them. That I took the time off for granted, and that I spent too many days wiling the hours away instead of making every minute count.
I’m scared that once I return to work, we’ll fall back into the same never-have-a-minute-to-spare routine, where our too few hours together as a family are taken up by errands, worries and little time simply enjoying each other.
Chloe won’t necessarily admit it, but I think she liked having me around. We’ve had our share of disagreements, and she has frequently lost her temper with me, and that will, without a doubt, continue. But we’ve spent so many good moments together. Reading and writing. Playing games (although not nearly as much as she would have liked). Watching “Survivor.” Going to the movies.
Sure, we’ll continue to do those things. But I’m fairly certain that I won’t be as relaxed doing them as I’ve been these last few months. I’m by no means saying that I’ve always been relaxed – relaxing, for me, is something that I have to work at. But I’ve definitely improved since leaving my job last May.
And little Sophie. I’m going to miss being an accomplice to her antics everyday. And participating in her two-year old conversations. 
And dancing and jumping on the bed with her.
Luckily, the job is close to home. So I will see more of my family than I did when I was working in New York. I’m fortunate in that way (and in so many other ways), I know, to have been able to take this time off. It wasn’t easy to do it, but we managed.
Having me around more also benefited my husband. I still don’t iron, and I’m a crappy housecleaner, but we saw more of each other than we had in years, and that’s been really nice.
Life consists of many different episodes. Some last longer than others, and some pass you by in the blink of an eye. Eight months at home with Chloe and Sophie will someday seem like a little bleep on the radar of my life. But what a bleep it’s been…
