Promises Promises
Like A Band Of Gypsies

Strung Hams

I realize that these last couple of posts have made it sound as if I want to treat Caroline like a convicted juvenile offender (held until she is 18) but in truth she is merely a person of interest. I just wanted to keep her in a safe place for twenty-four, seventy-two hours tops; and then, of course, throughout her transportation to Vermont and back. After that I am willing to bow like a willow to the inevitable and her real bed (shall we call it a launch pad) is made and waiting for her should she choose to move out of her pod. The Morning After (you got that that was all in one night, yes? good - I'm sure I'm more clever when it isn't midnight and I am armed with a drill to keep things attached to walls) I proofed her room as much as I can by which I mean I removed everything that she had not already thrown onto the floor so as far as I am concerned... enjoy! I should add that although I have nothing but admiration for you free-range baby raisers I will continue to confine her to her room (door-knob thing works fine; padlock awaits - I am kidding. sort of) forever or until she learns to fly because this is the door to her room


and that is the (messy) bookcase that Caroline could climb with both feet tied behind her head and this


is the other side of that bookcase. I mean how do you baby-proof that? With a jump net?

So you remember my phobia about falling and yeah. Not happening.

Speaking of phobias I thought it was interesting how people react to the peapod. I find caves cozy. A close friend - who dislikes elevators and airplanes et al - said, "You're going to shut her up in some kind of little burrow?" and then had to breathe into a bag for a while. Patrick was on the roof with Steve yesterday (I repeat. on the roof. the roof of my house. my living heart was on the tippy part of a roof) and it was all I could do to restrict myself to a croaky "Be careful" before going back inside rather than screaming GET DOWN! GET DOWN! thereby turning my perceptions of what is safe into some kind of parental virtue.

He eventually got down. He was fine.


The "EAT please" sign was made by Patrick two and a half years ago. After Edward came home from the hospital Patrick noticed that we were short a baby so we told him his sister was very little and needed to stay in the hospital until she grew some more. He withdrew to his room and then emerged to put up the sign for her. I am never taking it down.

Speaking of Patrick and his room and paper and his projects and violins...

Patrick does really interesting things with paper, preferably card stock when he can get it.

This is a two-story house he built


Can you see the flower pots on the balcony and the little coffee cup on the table?

Both parts of the roof flip up to reveal the interior. Here's a staircase. The lower level has a fireplace to go with the chimney and a couch and what not. He does nice work. I don't think I would personally have him as an architect as he brooks absolutely no outside influence but some people like that. Look at Frank Lloyd Wright. I assume more than one client mentioned that they owned stuff, stuff that they liked to put in places like closets but did he listen? No.


My point is that Patrick is sent to his room at eight and by eight-thirty he usually makes it in there and then he builds... whatever. It is not uncommon for him to continue to poke his head out for hours with a conciliatory, "I know I am not supposed to come down but..." followed by the fact that he is about to drop down dead right that second due to a lack of food or water or Scotch tape or more Scotch tape or the other night he asked me for a violin. In all seriousness. Like I keep them next to the flour. I said no sorry go to bed and forgot to ask what the hell.

Turned out he had been experimenting with creating string instruments (he loves the double bass for some reason) and that was why he wanted a violin - for a template. Without one he went, um, lyre?


And that is the asterisked story of the violin.

The end

PS And now I'm really leaving and I mean it.

PPS This post brought to you by the fact that the "few things" I have left to pack cover the guest bed in its entirety and half the floor.