Mother's Day Out

We have been looking for that gender-neutrally named "mother's day out" program. Vivian thinks she has found one that will take her. Lots of outdoor time and a garden that the children tend and small groups of kids and a likable director and a relaxed view of discipline.

And fifteen minutes of chapel time once a week. Yes - it's minimal. No - it probably won't do any lasting damage. Yes - it is a church and isn't that why you send your kid to church. Yes - parents usually approve.

Should I de-program Vivian for 15 minutes a week? Vivian - why shouldn't you kill? Steal? Or covet your neighbor's wife? Should you fear eternal damnation? Should you be forgiven for your sins when you say a few words or take a dip in a holy river? Should you let the clear stream of reason lose its way in the dreary desert sand of dead habit*? Should we read a fairy tale called "The Emperor's New Clothes"?

Or should I let it go? Will I miss the frequent calls to the director's office to explain why Vivian couldn't have been serious when she told little Johnny to go to hell....

*from a poem by Rabindranath Tagore - the bard of my peeps. A bit of a perversion - the poem is often titled "Prarthona" or prayer in Bangla. And it is (or at least was) the HPS school prayer. But it's also titled "Where the mind is without fear".

Yucky Soccer Shoes

I went to Central Market this morning. On my way out, I asked for a balloon and explained that I had a little girl at home who really likes balloons. When I got home, I forgot the balloon in the car. A little bit later I went to play soccer. It was a very muddy game and on the way back I put my soccer shoes in a old Target plastic bag that was in the car. When I got home, I took the plastic bag and the balloon into the house. Vivian saw me walking in.

Vivian: "Daddy - you went to the grocery store?"
Me: "Yes sweetheart - here's your balloon."
Vivian: "What you buy?"
Me: "No - these are my yucky soccer shoes."
Vivian: "Mommy - daddy buy yucky soccer shoes at store."
Jo: "No - daddy just used an old bag to carry his soccer shoes."
Vivian: "Ooh. OK."

Conversation is getting pretty complicated.

All Aboard the Choo Choo Train

Sometime back we rode the little train at Zilker Park. Vivian likes trains.

waiting for the engineer/conductor

yea - we're off

peering down at Barton Creek

a go at the swings after the train ride

A Werid Week

One Sunday afternoon out of the blue, Jo's Aunt Roxanne passed away. Vivian was on Carol's lap when Michelle called to tell us. Just as the news started to sink in, Vivian clutched Carol by her finger and said "Ganma, read book p'ease." Carol held her and read.

Later in the week, Jo and Nicolle and Carol made plans to go for the funeral. While I was negotiating new baby sitting appointments with Ana (Vivian's babysitter), we ran into something due to which we had to terminate Ana's services. Vivian really liked Ana and Ana was very fond of Vivian.

And then Jo was gone for three days. When Jo had gone to Italy last month, I told Vivian that Mommy was on a vacation. That would hardly do this time. So I explained that "Mommy is on a trip to Nebraska". We went to Carol's on Friday afternoon to await their return. Vivian is used to being met at the car by a licking Kerby and a barking Jamba. She was was surprised to find the place empty. Mournfully, she asked for each one. "My gan'ma?", "My Kerby?", "My Aun'Cole?", "My cousins?". Soon after she woke up from her nap, everyone returned and the world slowly started spining again.

In the picture below, Vivian is looking at Ana. I think it was the last time Ana came. And in the next picture, Vivian looks sombere - which is rare.

V Tweets

The semi-luddite that I am - I finally joined twitter. Yes - you can now follow my inane thoughts in shorter but more frequent installments. But here's the logic: Vivian says lots of funny stuff through the day. I can't remember enough to blog later. The timing and content seems to be perfectly suited for tweets instead. I don't anticipate anyone following Vivian's pearls on their phones. I see it as a way to get short bursts of content to my blog.

Excuse the language. I still own one of those old-fashioned cell phones. It takes 8 key presses to type "you" (yyy-ooo-uu). Or 1 for "u".

Busy For a While

Vivian got out her water colors and was painting at the dining table this morning. I made her and myself some breakfast and brought it to the table. The conversation went something like this:

Me: "Vivian - it's time for breakfast"
She: "Daddy - I busy"
Me: "When will you eat?"
She: "I painting. I busy for a while"

Instead of a nice and simple "no", she says stuff like "not now", "later", "not yet", not today", "maybe"....

I tell Jo that Vivian can't possibly talk back for the next 17 years. May be she'll grow out of it by the time she gets to her teens.