cat named pig

Siena falls asleep as I’m reading our nightly chapter of Betsy Tacy. I give her a kiss and whisper, “I love you,” before getting up to leave the room. She wakes up and asks, sleepily, “Will you give me some cuddles?” I lie back down and pull her close.

As I’m lying there my mind wanders. Work, and then other things we have going on, and I find myself thinking about languages. The kids have been making great progress learning Spanish. Elliot adds vocabulary at a rate that amazes me, and his conversation is peppered with random Spanish words for shapes and colors. This morning he casually asked, “Where’s my oso polar?” We all knew he was looking for the paper polar bear he made in class on Wednesday, but I hadn’t realized he had even picked up on the Spanish name for it. Siena, for her part, corrects my pronunciation of almost any Spanish word I might try to say. Her accent, at least to my ears, sounds amazingly close to the real thing.

I remember that feeling, when I studied in Paris, of finally starting to sound like I had some business speaking French, like I wasn’t just a tourist looking for a buttery croissant and a halfway-decent free public restroom. (The former, easy to find. The latter, not so much.) I loved being able to really converse with people, asking questions not formulated by a textbook and actually understanding the answers. I loved being able to use slang without everyone chuckling, like “Oh, cute, the foreigner just said a slang word.”

When I started dreaming in French, I was hooked. I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life moving from country to country, staying long enough to develop a certain level of fluency, or at least competence, in the language and culture. France, Spain, and Italy were first. Four days in Morocco gave me just enough time to learn the Arabic alphabet and start recognizing letters in street signs (it helped that all the signs were also in French and Spanish), and I wanted to stay much longer. I was fascinated by how different it seemed from Spain, just a short ferry ride away. And I have always wanted to learn Japanese. And Greek. And Portuguese — similar to the languages I’ve studied, but just different enough that I’m intrigued.

I crave travel, but not just visiting — I crave living abroad, meeting people, becoming a regular at the corner bar, fumbling around in an unfamiliar language and city until suddenly it feels less fumbley and more like regular life.

***

It’s been a little bumpy lately, with the new job(s) and reconfiguring of routines. Not all bad, necessarily, just up and down. Siena, as I’ve mentioned, told me she didn’t want me to ever get another new job again. Or words to that effect. We had a rough couple of days this past week when she was home sick and Elliot went on nap strike. I couldn’t get anything done; we were all pretty unhappy with each other. Even when Siena felt better and went back to school, she seemed extra-emotional and would fall to pieces over every little thing.

I decided she and I needed an afternoon outing, just the two of us. No work, no boys. I weighed the options — we could go out to lunch, see a movie, go to a museum/zoo/library. All fun, all worth doing. I’m not sure why I suggested instead that we go get her ears pierced. I mean, it sounds insane as I’m typing it. Who takes a child who’s tired, emotional, and recovering from a cold (and possibly seething with resentment about Mama’s new work commitments) and brings them to a crowded mall store for a procedure involving sharp objects being jabbed into soft flesh? I do, apparently.

She’s been talking about wanting pierced ears since her fifth birthday, with equal parts dread and longing. Terrified of pain, she agonizes over every doctor’s appointment where she might get a shot. I didn’t know when she’d actually want the earrings badly enough to go through with the piercing. But I know my daughter, and I know that she is as tough as she is dramatic. And she could use something to feel proud of and excited about, after the week we’d had. And she really, really loves earrings. . . .

***

We watch two other girls go first, one slightly older than Siena and one a teenager. No one cries or screams or faints, but Siena still tugs my arm and steps out of the store. I kneel down; we confer.

“I’m not sure I still want to do this.”

“You don’t have to do this. It’s your choice, but I want you think about whether you’ll be sad when we leave if you don’t do it.”

She wavers. “Can we go back in and think about it some more?” I say yes, but when we step back in, they’re ready for us. She climbs reluctantly into the chair and the Ear Piercing Specialist (this may not be her actual job title) shows her the equipment, then gives her a teddy bear to hold, a large bear with five earrings pierced into one ear. I find this both hilarious and heartbreaking — who are these mothers, taking girls young enough to still be comforted by stuffed animals to get their ears pierced? Oh, right. What am I doing? And then, suddenly furious with myself, This was a terrible idea.

I sign the forms and Siena chooses her earrings. Tiny round rubies, her birth stone. Then follows a long analysis of the precise placement of the marker dots showing where the earrings will go — I’ll say this, the Ear Piercing Specialist is more meticulous about her job than I could ever be. Siena grips my hand, squeezes the bear, and click, one ear done. A handful of women in the store murmur approvingly about how great she’s doing and click, the other one is done. Siena looks shocked that it’s over for about half a second before her face explodes into smiles.

The whole way home, it’s all she can talk about: “I didn’t think I’d even be able to do it; I thought it was going to hurt sooo bad, and I did it! I feel like such a really big girl now. Like my big girl cousins. I can’t believe I can wear earrings now!”

I grin back, relieved that it went OK, thrilled to see her so excited and proud of herself. Maybe I did make the right call, after all. Maybe I do know what I’m doing.

After weeks of fumbling around, there it is: that feeling of fluency.

Matt hates how bad my hearing is. I’m constantly asking him to repeat stuff, or just plain hearing it totally wrong.

Like just now, for example, when I overheard him talking to Siena, who was watching a travel show about Paris on public television. (That’s right, my daughter chose to spend her Saturday afternoon watching a TPT travel program about Paris. And also one about Barcelona. I consider all my goals as a parent officially accomplished.)

So when the show featured a nightclub with cancan dancers, I thought I heard Matt say:

“When this is over, I’ll let you watch a movie about Paris called Moulin Rouge that has lots of singing and dancing like this.”

Needless to say, I was shocked. I flew into the room shaking my head and gesturing at Siena, who was curled up in the armchair by the TV.

“Moulin Rouge? No way — she’s WAY too young for that!”

Matt rolled his eyes and peevishly repeated what he had actually said, which was:

“WHEN YOU’RE OLDER, I’ll let you watch a movie about Paris called Moulin Rouge.”

He then glared at me until I apologized. Well, excuuuuse me for not wanting to explain to my five-year-old what a prostitute is. Or why Nicole Kidman keeps coughing blood into her handkerchief.

Sioux Falls happens to be within excellent road trip distance from Minneapolis: the drive is long enough to feel like you’ve really gotten away wish you were dead because the kids won’t stop asking if we are there yet OMG I thought that was a just a comic strip cliché I didn’t think kids really said this WHY DID I HAVE CHLDREN? But it’s not too far to drive for a weekend visit with friends. (If said friends have to insist on living there, and not here in Minneapolis where we think they belong.)

Anyway, the friends in question — Sara, Ryan, and Siena’s BFF Avery, of blue-painted-butt fame — moved to Sioux Falls in June and got a dog named Bindy shortly thereafter. Which means that pretty much every day since June, Siena has asked me, “Mama, what do you think Avery and Bindy are doing right now?”

In other words, we had to get out there to visit them.

The trip was perfect, aside from the drive*. The kids played, Bindy tolerated all of their “affection,” Matt and Ryan watched sports and Sara and I drank wine and said things we thought were funny. Pretty much the usual for all of us. Oh, and there was food. Lots of it. We ate ourselves silly and then had more snickerdoodles, just because they were there.

BFFs and hat models.

At the actual falls of Sioux Falls. Matt and Ryan were back at the house watching sports while Elliot napped. I guess the World Series was on or something.

…..

* I’m not even kidding about the “Are we there yet?” business. We pulled into the parking lot to get cash from the ATM five blocks from our house, and Elliot clapped his hands in excitement and asked, “Are we in SOUF DATOTA NOW?” OK, so that one was funny, but when he and Siena had repeated that question a billion times each, it became less amusing.

It’s 11:26 p.m. and when you consider what time Elliot is going to wake up in the morning, there is no good reason for me to even be awake right now, much less online. Maybe the FREEZING COLD RAIN all day has made me extra alert, or maybe Fall gives me insomnia. (Note: BREATHING gives me insomnia, so this is plausible.) Whatever the reason, I am not remotely tired but should probably force myself to STEP AWAY FROM THE INTERNET and go to bed.

Before I do that, I thought I’d quickly post a few pictures of Elliot and some maps. (Taken by Matt, on our recent trip to Portland.)

Because who doesn’t like a cute little guy and a map? Enjoy your Friday.

For our first anniversary, Matt and I spent the weekend at a bed-and-breakfast outside Madison. The year after that, we flew to Montreal and stayed in a charming hotel with a fabulous restaurant. We don’t do gifts, but every year since Siena was born we’ve gotten a babysitter and gone out to dinner.

Yesterday Matt and I celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary, but I use the term “celebrated” loosely here. “Briefly acknowledged it” might be more accurate, or even “survived it.” Not that the anniversary of our marriage required surviving, but the day itself sort of did.

We spent the weekend in Portland, OR, for my cousin’s wedding. The whole weekend was all kinds of fantastic, from the gorgeous hotel (stay here if you’re visiting Portland and like Mad Men), to the beautiful vineyard wedding, to the free public transportation in downtown Portland. Seriously, riding the street car and light rail made the trip for Elliot. We visited with family and checked out Powell’s Books, which you should also do if you’re in Portland (and have a spare suitcase to fill). We had a blast.

But then we had to get home.

Due to a staggering lapse in judgment and common sense, we had originally booked our flights without bothering to check Siena’s school calendar. You know, the calendar for the elementary school she is attending for the very first time ever, kind of a big deal, major life milestone, etc. Brilliant. So we had tickets to fly out on her first day of kindergarten. This obviously had to be fixed, which turned out to cost approximately the GDP of a small country. We ended up just changing Siena’s and my tickets. This meant Matt and Elliot left a day earlier and got home a day later than Siena and I did, and hooo-boy was that ever a mistake. If I had known what the emotional fallout of that decision would be like, I would have sold my house and all my belongings to avoid the hours of drama from Siena about the unfairness of it all.

She and I got home Monday night and I put her to bed around 8:00. At 11:00 p.m. she was still coming out of her room, alternately sobbing about missing the boys or raging about how they got a longer vacation and it WASN’T FAIR. Which it wasn’t. At that point, I certainly would have preferred still being on vacation to three hours of histrionics at home.

She finally went to sleep and slept later than she ever has in her life. I took her to the bus stop in the morning and then sent Matt a romantic and loving three-word text message to mark our eight years of wedded bliss. Then I went home and cleaned the litter box.

We picked Matt and Elliot up around bedtime, which meant Siena was even more tired and grumpy by the time we got home from the airport. She was thrilled to see Elliot though, and hug-wrestled him for about fifteen minutes before I pulled them apart. She had missed Matt, too, but chose to express it by being angry at him for being gone. They got into a battle of wills over pajamas that you could probably hear at your house. Or in space.

In the midst of all this, the toilet overflowed. (Never buy the extra-thick toilet paper if you have a child — they will not believe that you can use less of it because it’s thicker. No matter how many times you explain it to them.) After mopping up toilet water, I went downstairs to start a load of laundry and saw a centipede the size of a cat skitter across the floor in front of me. I screamed, then cursed when it disappeared into a corner.

“This is the worst anniversary EVER!”

I went upstairs and grumbled to Matt until we decided to watch Mad Men online. Watching shows on the computer is what we do most nights after the kids go to bed. This welcome return to normalcy (and the soothing sound of ice clinking in Don Draper’s cocktail glass) helped dispel my bad mood. Matt, as is usual for him, had never even gotten crabby.

I won’t ever book a trip where we fly separately again. Not just because of Siena’s reaction, but because Matt is my favorite travel companion. I missed squeezing his arm as the plane took off, and I missed his ability to stay completely relaxed while checking in and going through security. (I tend to navigate the airport in a state of HIGH INTENSITY until we get to the gate — then and only then do I chill out.) Mostly, I just missed him. After eight years of marriage, I still like having him around. And not just because he usually cleans the litter box.

We got home from Seattle! on Sunday night. I see it that way in my head, italicized with exclamation point, because it’s a city I’ve been dying to visit for years. A handful of my favorite people live there, so it was pretty exciting to finally visit their current hometown. It’s also beautiful, and jam-packed with things that taste good. If you enjoy food, coffee, and life, you should totally go there.

Since I am sitting here at the cabin on Vacation #2, I thought I should get some pictures and highlights recorded from Vacation #1 before too much longer. We had an excellent time and duper-excellent (Siena’s expression) weather: warm and sunny every day but the last. That made it a tiny bit easier to leave, but only a tiny bit. Here are a few highlights, from a list I made on the plane home:

• Pike’s Place Market. Two blocks from our hotel; awesome people watching and the best smoothie I’ve had in a long time: Rainier cherry and pluot. We didn’t see any fish-throwing though, just lots of people standing around waiting to see the fish-throwing. Matt and I laughed at them and moved on, because we love our fellow Americans like that.
• Meeting Baby Caleb, new son of our friends Jenny and Peter, and one of Seattle’s most adorable attractions.

• Antipasti on the patio at The Pink Door.
• Bachelorette party Thursday night: champagne in our hotel room, followed by a pub crawl with games, ending the night with dancing. The best part was the outfits: Team JoJo baseball T’s (Jo’s said “Captain” on the back).

• Coffee.
• Great Mexican food at Agua Verde the day after the bachelorette party. Exactly what we needed. If you’re ever in Seattle on a sunny day, eat here and sit outside overlooking the water — you won’t regret it.

• Meeting Jo’s fiance husband Peter for the first time, after hearing many, many good things about him. Seeing how happy they looked together, and agreeing with everyone else there how perfect they are for each other.
• Espresso.
• Friday evening party ON A BOAT. Repeated references to this (lyrics NSFW) mostly from my husband.

• Walking around downtown.
• Cappuccino.
• Jo and Peter’s wedding! She looked beautiful, the food was fabulous, the cake was cupcakes, and the favors were chocolate bars. Well done, guys.

• Dancing. Drinking sparkling wine. Dancing some more.
• Pizza at 2:00 a.m. Two nights in a row.
• Watching MTV in the hotel room, while eating 2:00 a.m. pizza. A vacation-only guilty pleasure.
• Le Pichet. We just had croissants and coffee, but next time we’re out that way we’ll definitely try to fit in a dinner there.
• Iced coffee.
• Fish tacos.
• Holing up in Elliott Bay Books for a few hours — definitely how I’d spend every rainy Sunday if I lived in Seattle.
• Our two-bedroom suite at the Moore Hotel with Katie and Brad. Simultaneously reminded us of college and Europe, neither in a bad way.

Clearly this list includes more meals (and caffeinated beverages) than should fit into a four-day trip. We ate some great food and spent some great quality time with good college friends. At the risk of sounding treacly, Seattle was nourishing both physically and emotionally. We can’t wait to go back.