Two days ago Abigail pooped in the potty. Four days before that, Lucas pooped in the potty. To celebrate, their grandparents are flying in from New York.
Okay, no. I’m not high. My father and Carol have had this trip planned for a while, and I’m beyond excited. They arrive this Thursday and are off on Tuesday, and in between all that, I’ll be trying to squeeze South By Southwest events into my days.
We took the sprouts to celebrate Purim this past Sunday at the Michael Dell JCC, where we hope they’ll go for pre-school, if they ever get in off that waitlist. Grr. Lucas is an adventurous child, always ready to try something new (the jumping castle). Abigail is an observer. She needs to check things out for a while before actually doing them, and even then, she’ll cry for her mama.
I can’t believe I’m heading to Fort Lauderdale next week for the Literary Feast, or that Moose will be coming out in paperback this summer. I need to find a dress to wear to this Literary Feast cocktail party. And then figure out how to pack it.
Today I’m going to Michael’s Craft Store to buy, well, more crafts for the kids. Googly eyes and feather boas. I used to love dress up, and I know they say to just give them your old clothes to play with, but really, stained tee shirts? That’s not very whimsical or dramatic now is it?
We just bought the kids a playscape for the backyard. When we’d moved in, there was already one in place, but we had them remove it, thinking we’d build a pool. But then we joined a country club, and with the kids not having swimming lessons, we just held off. Then the question became, how long do we see ourselves staying? It was worth building a pool if we thought we’d be here for five more years, but the truth is, we just don’t know. So, we went ahead and bought the kids a new world of wood and plastic. And it’s being installed as I type.
I’m having guest room “issues.” The New York room needs new sheets and pillow cases. A new spring pattern. I was checking out the Yves Delorme outlet site, but I’m still not feeling the love. I want people to stay with us and to think, “Wow, I never want to leave this room.” I want a Brewster’s Million’s “I can die in this room.” Please for the love of sateen, spare me the “They’d be happy to stay on a mattress on the floor. It’s all about the company.” Of course it is. When I stay somewhere, I couldn’t care less if it’s a pull out sofa or a king size featherbed. Yet, I love the idea of pampering our guests. When they arrive, I’d love for the dvd player in their room to be playing soothing music, with a sleep track at the ready. The room should be clean, plush slippers, and happy colors. Orange & Blue with white sateen. Evian facial mist (which is totally overrated, but I like the idea of it). I love small things that make people feel taken care of.
I wonder why the hospitality in me is even there–that need to go all out. I think it’s the way I learned to show love. It’s how my mother mothered me. Not in material things, but in comforts: in hospital corners and ironed linens, in thoughtfully prepared meals with fresh herbs and the time to add a garnish. In sweet endings on napkins. I love in the details of comfort.