The Eleventh Hour

Since we were all a-scramble to get the pinewood derby cars and rockets ready to race last Saturday, we have left other things undone. Last Friday night, we were still adding wheels to cars, and sorting out rocket propellers. The results were as follows:
Son's rocket placed 4 out of 4 in his den. Son cried.
Son's car placed 3rd out of 10 in his den. Son gets to race at Districts. Son wants to know how to make the car go faster yet. Parents wonder why Son didn't care about that last week.
Daughter's car won the popular vote for "most colorful car" out of all the entries... some 40 cars. Daughter was at pinnacle of happiness.

Now, it is Wednesday night. The eve of the science fair. Parents divided and "conquered." I let hubby pick the child. He picked Son, and his gravity project. Daughter and I got to work on her trifold: "What spiders eat."

I spent some time staring, horrified and unable to turn away, at computer images of spiders eating things. Like: a bird. (Hubby's comment: "That's Australia for you." He can say such things, being married to a kiwi wife.) Daughter roller painted her trifold with pink glitter paint. She has adhered lacy cutout webs, drawn spiders sidling up to flies, and typed or wrote all her labels. Things hang off her trifold from poorly rolled scotch tape that daughter insists is the way to adhere paper to glittery, shiny trifold. Points to OCD parent for not interfering.

Hubby played while the sun shone. Son also played. Right this minute, at fifteen minutes past bedtime, Son is dressed and messing with helium balloons. Hubby is desperately trying to explain how gravity is acting on mass.

I feel superior. However, the snow is coming, and there are terrific odds the science fair will be canceled.

American Girl(s)

So, we bought the American Girl doll in a middle class gesture to get Daughter attached to something other than her mother's tummy, fun though that has been. Daughter was thrilled by the doll in the catalog (and how did we ever get that first catalog through our door, anyway?). I bought a matching nightdress for doll and girl, because (cheap at heart) I know Daughter can wear nightgown all year, and through next winter as well. Although the doll will not outgrow hers, Daughter will, but first nightdresses just become... shorter.

Daughter named doll Sally. All day yesterday, the signs were good. Daughter spoke to Sally, took her everywhere, explained snow, and Christmas, and how to behave at a party ("don't take off your shoes, or your underwear").

However, today I'm a bit alarmed. The fear was that Daughter would not attach to Doll. I fear instead that Doll exerts more power than I gave American Girl credit for, and Daughter has become fetish object for Doll.

Daughter will only dress like the doll today, and wants to be called Sally as well. My tummy is also feeling a little slighted.

However, we did have a visit from The Man Himself on Christmas Eve, braving ice and snow on the busiest day of the year. It is Santa as we have him in a wall of pictures, one from each year, framed in the hall. But as we were missed off the studio call list this year, Santa took pity, and paid a personal visit.

Oh Yeah!

Am happily bragging today about my great emailed news from the magazine Appleseeds: my pitch to write a piece on medieval "dirty work" got accepted for one of their upcoming themed issues! Now, how to write a long and interesting piece, and then hack it back into a well- crafted 300 word mini-masterpiece ... I got done with my first example of wonderfully disgusting work and it was already at 344 words, so clearly I should aim for haiku.

Break a leg!

There is much glitter in our household as both children are cast (I use that term loosely, since hubby is the director) in the main stage production of Midsummer Night's Dream. They are: Changeling boy and Spring fairy. They have: big hair, much hairspray and glitter, much body paint, and amazing costumes. They are: excited (they did the high school production this morning, but it's opening night tonight...) and exhausted. Their hair is still up from this morning's production, and they are flitting around in the in-betweenness of shows, bestowing glitter around the house. Despite daughter's horror the first time someone told her "break a leg," they are by now green room regulars, and as bored with makeup and hair routines as the most seasoned actors. Spring fairy did just break Changeling boy's glasses a few minutes ago, and when I asked her "are you injured?" (after checking on son) cried: "no, but I'm huuuuuurt!" in a more "unstrung" than "spring" fairy-like way. A student this afternoon told me I had glitter under my nose. I shrugged. She said it kept catching the light. I thought: I have cool fairy boogers. Wait 'til I tell the kids!