The gomboo

Oh, my. We've got it here, the gomboo. Fever, chills, headache, cough.  I know we're kind of late to the flu party but here we are! Is there still any guacamole left? (Ugh, cancel that. Guacamole is the last thing we need at this moment.  How about popsicles?)   

We're all in our beds (everyone but G and Maddy), a coughing chorus of germ hosts.  Books, check.  Water, check. Pillows with the cool side a turn away, check. Rest time, check.

Sam, the sickest among us, groans in his sleep with every exhale, a faint little oh with every breath as he naps on the sofa.  Lauren feels fine but can't shake the fever--she's been watching movies and texting and seems full of ideas, asking to go for Wendy's frosties/subway sandwiches/movie rentals/driving practice.  I'm being a little productive in a slow motion, fuzzy kind of way with lots of forehead checks and drink fetching and temperature taking for the other patients. We will survive. 

Finger crossed G doesn't get it. He leaves for Paris on business at the end of the week. (Here, France, is our little hostess gift to you: the gomboo.)

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Grateful for: 1. the skylight in my bedroom with the view of the tenacious yellow leaves 2. duvets 3. advil to bring down fevers

OooOoo...This was Halloween

Sam wanted to be something cool--this year he was going to his first school Halloween dance.  He considered going as a color (blue--inspired by Matt's Blue Man Group last year?) but never really settled on anything despite long brainstorm sessions.  Then on Thursday night when I went in to say good night he had his whole costume assembled and lying on his floor, including the FBI i.d. and earpiece.  With no help whatsoever! Awesome. 

Lauren's friend Lucy is a ballerina so she brought over her tutus and they put together a good/evil ballerina duo for consecutive dances last weekend.  (This weekend Lauren went with her old queen costume from a couple of years ago for party-going on Halloween.)

Maddy and friends wanted to dress up in a theme together and decided on Snap, Crackle, and Pop of Rice Krispy fame (Maddy's coat and hat are from Target and will be well used long after Halloween).

We just squeaked in a pumpkin carving session on Halloween at 4 p.m. before everyone dispersed for trick-or-treating & celebrating with their own groups of friends.

We did a row of orange illuminarias leading up to our house but it was so windy that they were blown out and knocked over by 6 (plus it was freakily warm: 69 degrees). Some of my favorite trick-or-treater costumes this year: the Empire State Building (stacked boxes...so clever), a neon sign, the Constitution, and two little witches in a cardboard car.  Failing grade to the teenage "golfer" (wearing a golf shirt and glove).

Finally, a note:

Dear Teen Girl Trick-or-treaters, In my opinion, you must choose between sk@nky and candy.  If you are old enough to wear a sk@nky costume, you are too old to trick-or-treat with the little kids.  If you want candy, please cover up and be a sweet witch, not a sexy one.

Thank you,

The reluctant candy-givers at no. 22.

Here there be wild things

When I think of the movie Where The Wild Things Are, I will think of Sam wiping his eyes, flat palmed with both hands, as he cried at the end.

{please don't go...I'll eat you up, I love you so...}

I noticed it from the corner of my eye and tried to give him the courtesy of not noticing. But tears sprang to my eyes (these things being contagious) and I thought Well, of course. Sam is Max, pretty much. Or was. His imagination. His emotions. His wild and tender ways. His affinity for me and home (where someone loved him best of all...). His sometimes loneliness as his older sisters (although reluctantly) abandon him to play in the world of childhood & make believe alone.

Sam is well acquainted with the wild things and where they are. Spike Jonze has said that he intended to create a movie that captured the book's spirit and what it is like to be a nine-year-old boy. Sam got that. He's not nine anymore but he recognized the geography of that age and connected with it.

Not everyone in the theater did. There was a three-year-old behind us who, after the first monster scene, said I don't want to see this movie anymore (it really isn't for younger kids...Pixar it's not). A few people grumbled under their breaths as we shuffled out of the theater that it wasn't what they expected, wasn't a kids' movie, was quiet and strange*.

Well, yes. I can see that. But it made me want to ask, "have you really read the book?" and "do you really remember what it's like to be a child?" There are scary emotions and swift boats to tantrums. There are rumpuses (rumpi?) and imperfect families and journeys back to forgiveness. There's moodiness and confusion and questions and thin, thin boundaries between delight and disappointment. Everything looms large and monsterish...life so wholly determined by other people's agendas. That's The Point.

It's not like anything you've seen. It is weird. Please though, if you go, just get in the boat, let go, and let the wild rumpus start. It's a great (and trippy) ride.

*then again, there were adult WTWTA fans dressed in footie pajamas and zigzag crowns at the theater, too. They seemed happy with it.

Ah, normal days.

"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return."

~Mary Jean Iron, via Ali

I had a fantastic and energizing trip to DC last week...also very humbling and overwhelming! I feel like I'm standing at a threshold of a door and taking a deep breath before stepping through (do I want to step through? what does it mean for my life and my family? what can I give? what should I hold back?)

I'm relishing the return to normal days this week. Sam is home sick with a fever (and will be fine soon) and we are enjoying being cozy and homebound for now. I'm baking a bit and lighting candles and breathing. Folding laundry into tidy squares. Ah, I love margins and space between the busyness of mothering/life.

photo via

Louie, Louie

Louie the dog is cracking me up lately. He's decided to become Sam's long lost brother (from a different mother). Notice how he's holding the paper for Sam's coloring page*? And how fascinated he is by the whole process? I see you're using the red crayon, Sam. Good choice. I might have gone with magenta but clearly you know your way around a coloring page. This is how he is all day long: interested and involved. I unload the dishwasher several times a day but each time, it's the most fascinating thing in the world to Louie.

Wow! Dishes go in there, huh?

And then where do they....oh....in the cupboard. I get it.

Of course, he wasn't such a fan when his collar got caught somehow on the empty dishwasher rack and he pulled it out and across the kitchen floor, attached to his neck. Unexpected! The sky is falling! He's a little more wary of it now.

The other thing that never fails to make us laugh is his response to either (a) phone messages on our machine or (b) sirens. Oh, my. He howls and howls like a wolf on the prairie. I'm pretty sure he thinks the sirens are other dogs asking for his help and advice and support. Not sure what the answering machine is all about. Maybe he just misses me.

Oh, Louie. If only you didn't still steal things from the table. And jump up on shy little Chinese students. Then you'd be almost perfect.

*we had a lovely, lazy Sunday listening to conference talks at home, eating fresh picked apples and pumpkin bread, most of us remaining in pajamas all day. Sam (above) set up projects on the floor where Louie joined him.