Green day

There are days when what gets me up in the morning is the anticipation of seeing what outfit Maddy will select to wear. She has a kicky style all her own, aided by her collection of bandanas and hats and little purses and boots. I had to share today's little green number. Clearly she begs to differ with Kermit on the it's-not-easy-being-green sentiment.

Origamiland

We took a break from the unpacking this week to visit the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem (thanks, public library, for your free museum pass program!).

I've heard much good press about the PEM but hadn't yet made it there. Sam was a little reluctant (car repugnant as he is) but once he heard they were featuring an exhibit on origami he was on board.

If you're in the Boston area, be sure to check it out. Besides amazing paper-folding creations (see pictures below), they also have hands-on origami projects that were pleasers. (Looking for a fun activity? The website has some great origami lessons to try at home.) These were so cool (and, yes, completely out of folded paper!):

In the hot seat

I don't want to brag but...I'm popular. Every time we go somewhere with seating--restaurant, movie, church--my kids fight over who sits next to me. It's flattering, really, and (to be frank) I do nothing to discourage it. At least someone likes me! I've thought about doing a rotation schedule but that seems so narcissistic (and time consuming) that I have rejected it. So, instead, when we arrive somewhere we all do this stand-and-shuffle tango trying to align ourselves in the right order for peace and tranquility. And justice. And harmony.

Lucky for us we have a member of the fairness police squad in our family. Maddy knows who has sat where under which circumstances since time began. There's a little corner of her brain that keeps track of all things justice related (maybe a classic middle kid thing to do?). Last week we went someplace and, to Maddy's mind, we sat in the wrong places.

"It was my turn to sit next to you, not Sam's," she noted (for the record, your honor) as we left.
"Well, next time you can."
"But Sam didn't even talk to you. I would have been a much better use of your time."

Some day they won't care anymore. Some day they will argue about who has to sit next to me. But for now, I'll take it as a great vote of support from my very own constituents.

Of dolls and mayhem

M still loves dolls. I love that about her. She still changes their clothes, fusses over them, gives them stimulating conversation and activities (see pictures). To tell you the truth, I was not a doll person after the My Baby Chrissy doll I had at age 5. I just didn't get the point, would have rather read or imagined a different reality. I could appreciate the fun of dressing them but the idea dulled when it came to playing with them. (This is all a little ironic, since I am the granddaughter of a doll museum proprietor. Kind of like being the tone-deaf granddaughter of Kiri Te Kanawa.)

I think that's why I especially love M's doll affection. It's purely, delightfully her thing, not one bit influenced by my or her sister's preferences. Her doll Emily has logged as many travel miles as M has...we have pictures of Emily peering out of the window onto Niagara Falls, propped up on a pillow in the hotel in NYC (poor Emily has a delicate constitution and quite often needs to stay back at the hotel, napping. Quite often I wish I could join her.) and traipsing through airports peering from M's backpack.

Once several years ago she accidentally left her at a park playground. We were on our way home and I heard a sharp intake of air and M's squeal, "Oh, no! Emily! I forgot her!" We had only been gone about 5 minutes so I did a U-turn, pulled up at the curb, and the two girls tumbled out to go fetch Emily. What happened next deeply affected M. And us all. L returned first, tears streaming down her face. "Emily's hurt!" was all I could get from her. As I got out of the car, M came around the fence, sobbing, with sticks in her arms. But not sticks. As she got closer, I could see they were two arms, two legs, all independent from the head and sweet little dress M had put on Emily for her outing to the park.

It took me weeks before I could think about this incident without tears. Yes, it was just a doll. Not a living thing, not irreparable or even irreplaceable. But M's knowledge of the world expanded that day to know that there are people out there that would pull the arms and legs off of a doll. Just because. All the way home, 6-year-old M breathed in that post-cry, hiccuped rhythm. "Why would anybody do this? Do they not like me? Or Emily? " While she wanted to hold her, it was just too upsetting "I can't look at her...she's not herself." We tried to reason that it could have been a dog but there weren't any teeth marks, just clean tears of her limbs. Eventually, we got her fixed (actually AG dolls did a whole new body but M doesn't know this) and Emily has continued her almost mascot status in the family. And my mother bear tendencies have softened so that I don't need to find out who did it or to demand apology and contrition. In one corner of my heart, though, I hope the kid who did it grows up to have a daughter who arranges her dolls in little scenes, who nurtures and washes and feeds them with the dedicated devotion of a first-time mama, and he (or she) remembers. And realizes.

Best two hours of my week...

Introducing my 11-year-old daughter to Roman Holiday. The minute I saw the dvd cover at the rental store, I knew. Tonight's the night I introduce M. to the wonderful world of Audrey Hepburn. The joyful, innocent, delighted-with-life mood of the movie exactly fits M's approach to life right now. She loved it. Watching it through her eyes? In a word, magical.