tollipop

the cousins are here

 
It's spring break in Las Vegas and my sister and her family are here for a visit.  What does that mean?  Merely that a band of wild cousins are on the loose and you should stay in your houses and lock the doors.

And hide your cookies.

 
So many little dears.  All making me drawings and giving me hugs and calling me auntie, all accusing each other of bossiness, all nestled together like kittens, all demanding to spend every waking moment of the day together.

 
And of course, so lovely to see my sister and her husband, for whom I am also very fond.  We all went to school together, back in the day.  I think we look around from time to time at this sudden mass of offspring and wonder what we've gotten ourselves into...

At any rate, dear reader, I know I always announce these little blogging breaks and then never follow through...but this time I think it's really going to happen.  If I don't find my way back here before the weekend, I wish a special Easter holiday to those who celebrate and the wondrous enchantment of April and awakening of Spring to us all.

izzy's choice

 
On Sunday I went for a nice long walk with Izzy.  Just the two of us.  Next to the satsifaction of being together as a family, having one child (or husband) all to myself comes in a very close second.  Possibly first, if we're talking about my husband.

At any rate, so Izzy and I were on this lovely walk and she launched into one of her favorite games: hypothetical situations.  Which is dangerous for us both, as the line between conjecture and reality can be a bit fuzzy in our minds. 

She started out easy, asking me things like: What would you rather have, a canary or a falcon?  Since I felt rather dispassionate on the matter, it was easy to pick falcon.  Then I asked her: What would you rather have, the power to be invisible or the power to fly?  She rolled her eyes as if I had lobbed her a softball.  The power to fly, of course. 

So we stepped it up a notch. 

Alright then, I said, what would you rather have, a hamster or a dog?  Izzy's breath caught in her throat.  I knew what was happening: in her mind, it was as if she was being forced to choose between Ludi and a (albeit imaginary) dog.  If she were to choose her hamster, this would mean she wouldn't get the dog, and if she were to choose the imaginary dog, somehow her hamster would cease to exist.   As in, really.

Do you see the dilemma??

Of course, I felt terrible.  Okay, forget it, I hastily said, how about this instead?  What would you rather have, a perfectly quaint little cafe across the street from a park, where you would bake the most scrumptious goodies and every day the dearest old man would stop by for a visit and tell you a marvelous story, or, would you prefer a used bookstore tucked away on a busy city street, with piles of dusty books and other curiosities, and a comfortable old chair that was actually magic and could take you into the world of any story you read?

Unbelievably, she took the cafe.  But as I look back, it was admittedly hard to go wrong with either choice.

Now I have one for you, she said.  What would you rather have in your backyard--a tree that produced the world's most amazing apples, or a tree that produced the world's most amazing cherries?

I gasped.  My hands actually flew to my mouth as I confronted the horror of my situation.  Looming before me: the ecstasy and agony of choosing between two things I love more than anything else in the world! 

Dear reader, do you know what it is like to devour an amazing apple?  Do you know what it is like to ravish an amazing cherry?  Because I do.  My childhood reads like one big romp through the orchards of Eden.  Seriously, if you have never visited the Okanagan Valley, you cannot possibly know of the ambrosia and nectar to be procured upon this earth.  I have tried to think of ways to describe the fruit which grows there and it all comes out sounding borderline indecent, so I guess just let your mind wander that way and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. 

At any rate, it is now three days since she posed me this hypothetical question and I am still reeling from its implications.  For the life of me, I cannot decide.  And yes, in my more rational moments, I stop to acknowledge that no such tree, apple or cherry, will likely ever exist in my backyard. 

But these moments are fleeting!  And a total nuisance! 

Because all I really see before me are these two wondrous trees.  One apple.  The other cherry.  Of the most luscious sort.  And they are beckoning to me.  If I choose one, I can never have the other.  But just imagine having all the amazing apples I could eat!  Or cherries!  I am caught in this moment of exquisite torture and it feels as if the balance of the universe hinges upon which way I decide.

Needless to say, our game is still in play.

................

p.s.  Oh, Jeanette just had a lovely idea!  If you have a moment, please go through and list your picks for the above hypothetical situations.  I will be fascinated to know and I swear in my mind it will seem as if they really came true...

bloesem kids: mom stories

I am thrilled and honored to be featured on Bloesem Kids today!  Irene posts a story on family life through the eyes of the mother (sometimes father!) each week, a little snapshot into homes from all over the world.  I love reading it, love the inspiration and the connection I feel as it reminds me we are all in this together, taking our path toward a similar goal and making the journey beautiful and unique as we go... 

scenes from the weekend

 
On Saturday morning I like to to have a bunch of things happening at once.  I like it when my husband gets up early and makes popovers.  I like it when he allows me to drag him out on a bike ride while I leave instructions for the girls to put away their laundry.  Also, I like it when I change my mind because it's too windy but then he makes me go anyway.  I think that's called bringing out the best in each other. 

Right?

 
Then I like coming home and deciding against a shower, telling Caroline instead, "Let's practice the cello!," and she says,"Oh, goody!"

Note to self: run a background check on that girl.  No one says oh goody to such a request without having something to hide.

 
Bid farewell to my little brother.  But first make him read one last book to Caroline, who was not at all pleased to see him go.

 
Make Sunday dinner with my fried chicken, my husband's fresh bread, Izzy's mashed potatoes, Sophie's berries, and Caroline's lovely table arrangement. 

Because when a bunch of things happen at once, I always stand back and marvel at the results. 

bump, set, spike

 
With the advent of 2010, a new chapter opened in our lives.  A slight shift, if you will.  Sophie started playing club volleyball and my husband started consulting drill books, measuring her vertical, and trying to play catch with her and a medicine ball. 

Have you ever played catch with a medicine ball, dear reader?  I assure you, it's quite a gas.  Especially when it's late at night and you're laughing like crazy and begging your husband not to throw it, but he does anyway.  Talk about fun.   

Given that both he and I played a lot of sports growing up, it may seem odd we haven't gone haywire in this area with our own kids up until now.  I don't know what to tell you.  For the longest time, I thought Las Vegas was too hot to do anything that would increase one's heart rate (I'm only slightly joking, by the way).  We do belong to a swim team, but I think there is an asterisk beside our name on the roster, and if you follow to the bottom of the page there is a note which says: not to be taken seriously.

It's not that we don't know how to make a commitment.  It's just that we have too many other commitments.

 
So for now we are going to practices.  We are attending high school games.  We are figuring out the etiquette of sportsmanship. 

 
But I have a funny feeling, when I attend Sophie's first real game, my decorum and good manners will go right out the window.   

i just gave the dramatic reading of a lifetime

 
Dear reader, I wish you could have come with me to Izzy's class this morning.  I practically whipped those kids into a frenzy with my rendition of Fantastic Mr. Fox.

You know, it's a funny thing, blogs.  I'm not sure what impression Tollipop would give someone who has never met me, but sometimes I worry I portray myself as this garrulous socialite who spends her days swinging from the chandelier, who throws her head back in peals of silvery laughter and calls everyone darling. 

When in fact, I'm quite reserved.  I'm somewhat shy.  And I can be rather tongue-tied, especially in social settings where small talk is de rigueur.

But when it comes time to read a story, my reserve goes out the window.  When it comes time to read a story, I read big or I don't read at all.  Meaning, I go for inflection, I go for dynamics, I take a stab at voices, dialects, accents.  Of course, half the time my girls end up begging me to "read normal", but that doesn't prevent me from giving Eliza Doolittle an initial run for her money.

So I walked into Izzy's class this morning like it was the Olympics of storytime.  I sat down and told the kids a bit about the book, then got right down to business.  

One of the great things about Roald Dahl is he wrote stories that lend themselves brilliantly to being read aloud.  The words, the syntax, the unfolding of the plot are so eminently pronounceable.  There is a sheer joy to the telling of his stories.

And I had those kids.  I had those jaded, cynical fifth graders sitting on the edge of their seats.  At the part where Mr. Fox makes his nightly excursion from the foxhole, unaware the three farmers are waiting outside with guns drawn, I read with such excruciating suspense that the kids were practically inching forward and sniffing the air themselves.  The expressions on their faces said it all.  Eyes as big as silver dollars.  Mouths agape.  Anxious.  Relieved.  Anxious.  Relieved.

And on Izzy's face: the look of trying to conceal the world's biggest smile.

They made me read seven chapters.

And they want me to return and finish the book. 

And because I know you are interested, I scoured the room for telltale signs of Gothdom.  Not really sure what I was looking for, but I did notice a few kids dressed head to toe in black.  For all I know, however, they could have been exchange students from Manhattan. 

The thing that mattered most is each and every child was fully engaged in that story.  It seemed as if the room was filled with magic. 

Some of my happiest childhood memories are of such storytimes and to this day, I love it when someone reads to me.  It makes me feel calm and safe.  It lets my mind wander to such amazing places.  And I love reading to others.  I read to my girls almost every night.  Sometimes they fall asleep to the sound of my voice which seems, to me, the loveliest thing in the world. 

As I looked out over the room of rapt little faces this morning, it was apparent for whom storytime was something of a novelty.  Trust me, you can just tell.  And I had this sudden urge to keep reading.  To just keep on reading so that magical moment of feeling safe and happy and free to wander could go on forever.

...................

p.s.  That dreamy painting in the background?  Courtesy of the exquisitely gifted Amanda Blake.

and the winner is...

 
The mysterious J.  Congratulations, darling!  I simply adore the air of intrigue, and somehow a single initial seems so mysterious and intriguing!  At any rate, do let's synchronize our watches and arrange a clandestine meeting to exchange secrets, valuable information, and perhaps an address.

To everyone else, thank you for playing along!  I wish you the luck of the Irish, the sighting of a leprechaun, and the discovery of one good friend...which everyone knows is better than a pot of gold.

And now I am off to my girls' school to read stories to their class for Reading Week.  Isn't that delightful?  Yesterday I read A Bargain For Frances to Caroline's class.  I had them hanging onto my every word.  Today I am reading, naturally, a few chapters of Fantastic Mr. Fox to Izzy's class (who worriedly informed me "about 50% of her class is goth"), and another Frances book to Caroline's class (who invited me back).  

Yes, I intend to read with feeling.  Yes, I intend to read with flair.  And yes, I intend to enthrall the living daylights out of those world-weary gothic 5th graders. 

My apologies in advance to Izzy.

you know, you really are...fantastic

 
Dear reader, it's a bit difficult to concentrate on writing at the moment, as both my younger and older brothers are sitting here talking their heads off.  My younger brother is staying with me for the week.  My older brother?  Well, I'm pretty sure he's supposed to be being a doctor right now, but somehow he is at my house eating my yogurt and granola and talking a steady stream into my ear.

C'est la vie.  C'est la famille.

Anyway, I wanted to let you know four items of varying import:

1) The brilliant Fantastic Mr. Fox comes out on DVD tomorrow.  Apparently my younger brother will be waking me up early so we can go stand in line, at a store, somewhere.

2) I may be posting a bit sporadically for the next several days because my brother and I will be too busy drinking horchatas and eating Haribo gummies.

3) Some of these wee originals I've been posting lately will make their way into my Etsy shop.

4) How am I supposed to remember four things?  Impossible!

Perhaps the last thing I will mention is my fondness of foxes.  Here are some words from one very wise little fellow:

"For instance, if you come at four in the afternoon, I'll begin to be happy by three.  The closer if gets to four, the happier I'll feel.  By four I'll be all excited and worried; I'll discover what it costs to be happy!  But if you come at any old time, I'll never know when I should prepare my heart..."

And, of course,

"One sees clearly only with the heart.  Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."

alice and eloise

 

Have I mentioned lately how much I love names for little girls?  All you have to do is tell me a charming name and for the next week I'll go around wanting another daughter just so I can give her that name.  Just so I can say, "Alice!  It's time to practice your trombone, darling!", or, "Eloise!  Mummy would like more chilled grapes."  

Anyway, Alice and Eloise were on a shortlist for a friend of mine who had a baby girl.  Then she ended up naming her Beatrice.  So that made three more babies I wanted to have.

My neighbor across the street is presently expecting a baby girl.  She is going with Nora Jane.  Or Norajane.  She can't decide.

Make that four for me.

 

And two of my sweet sisters are currently expecting.  One is having a boy, and she has settled upon James.  Brilliant.  But my sister who is having a girl (her fourth!) cannot seem to make up her mind. 

Dear reader, I have plied her with names.  I have simply ladled them upon her by the metric tonne.  But she is still undecided.  Even when I said Charlotte.  Even when I said Lucy.

(Oh dear, what am I at now, like, about a hundred??)

Feel free to chime in with your suggestions, dear reader.  It may be that you only end up adding to my list, but then again one never knows...

.............

p.s.  Just a reminder there is a Tollipop giveaway still going on.  Please leave a comment here if you'd like to play along and I will draw and announce the winner on Monday.

I also wanted to thank Gina for her kind mention of my blog on Rich Inner Life.  I have never been quoted before...what a lovely feeling!

And now I wish you a wonderful weekend.  I hope you find time for a walk or perhaps even a bike ride.  I hope someone reads you a story.  I hope someone reads me a story.  And I hope we will all have at least one delicious thing to eat.

the leprechaun trap

 

We interrupt our regular programming...

to bring you this three-leaf clover!

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Caroline came home from school yesterday equal parts elated and on the brink of despair. 

Elated, because it was St. Patrick's Day and there had been reported leprechaun sightings all over the playground.

Despair, because her trap failed to catch one.

"Oh, Mum.  I had such confidence in my trap!," she kept saying, over and over.  That killed me, so for my own amusement I kept the conversation going as long as I possibly could.  Now she doesn't know what to think.  Life is meaningless.  I think she's going to start reading Camus.

Despair, also, because apparently I was the only parent in all the land who didn't give her children sweets for St. Paddy's Day.  Sorry, but I have a hard time keeping up with all these candy-obligatory observances.

 

Anyway, back to the trap. The best thing about it?  'Twas a sisters-only collaboration, using materials found around the house.  

Yes, parents: dreams really do come true. 

As you can see, it all begins with a little reverse psychology, something I probably used too much of when the girls were younger. 

 

The leprechaun is lured through the hole, runs down the red carpet toward the gold, fails to see the little trip step placed strategically before a pile of tar and falls into the sticky mess, releasing a net that falls down and captures him. 

Clever, non?

We tried it on Professor Plum several times and it worked like a charm. 

Unfortunately, I now see it worked all too well in Caroline's mind.  When the children returned from lunch, as part of the fun, the "leprechaun" had run through their classroom and created all sorts of mischief.  But I don't think the note he left quite satisfied her curiousity. 

 

I think she would have much preferred harder evidence; indeed, there was a rumor going through the school that one boy had discovered a leprechaun leg in his trap and as Caroline relayed this sordid detail, I could tell some part of her was thinking: what did he do to deserve all the luck?