A boy and the waltz

In the not too distant past, I caught Jack eating chicken noodle soup with his hands. 

A couple weeks later, a friend mentioned that she was considering registering her son, one of Jack's pals, for cotillion. Might I be interested?

I am from and of the south but not wholly. I wasn't a debutante, I dislike snootiness of all stripes, and I chafe against traditions that feel antediluvian and exclusive. That said, I much admire manners, social graces, men who can dance well, and any excuse to put on a dress (and men, suits or tuxes), and when I saw Jack fetch a chunk of chicken from his soup bowl with a pincer grasp, well, let's say I realized I needed to call in the troops. Cotillion.

Jack may have been one of this fall's earliest registrants. When, two months after signing him up, I fessed up, Jack was not pleased.

I let him forget about it. Indeed I forgot about it. Until today when I realized that he did not have anything to wear to Night 1: The Waltz. 

And a smart new outfit is how I attempted to bribe enthusiasm into my dear Jack this evening. 

"This blazer and tie are the ONLY things OK about Cotillion. I love them. I cannot believe you're making me do this."

"Jack, some things in life are not negotiable. Learning to ride a bike, being kind, learning to dance, and not eating soup with your hands. I really believe you will thank me one day."

"I will never thank you. These clothes HURT."

I decided I would not make him take off those white athletic socks. 

The drama. Did I have the heart to tell him that next month's class is entitled Pumpkin Shuffle? I did not. But I'm still laughing my ass off to myself. Thank god some of his friends have also been Cotillioned by their parents.

And it was worth everything to watch Tom teach Jack how to tie a real tie. Look how dear these pictures are. 

I overheard, during the tie-tying tutorial, Tom say, "You know, I wouldn't have wanted to go either, but I do wish I could dance formally."

Hark! What do mine ears hear? I might suggest couples dance lessons for Christmas!

On internet friends and cardinals and Nanny

For one thing, hilarious text exchanges with good friends are really hard to beat. That's all on that subject, but if you haven't flown back and forth with a pal, emojis and honesty flying left and right, you really should try it prontissimo. 

As y'all might know by now, I have taken a number of writing classes and through them have made a number of friends. These many women and two men (hear, hear Freddie and Adam) have enriched my life in so many ways. Anyone who doubts the veracity of relationships forged online should pause and reconsider. While some are wholly fake, disappointing, or otherwise no good and totally ephemeral, others are the brightest of surprises, the happiest of new weights securing us to life and world.

Perhaps because writing is an artistic craft, a number of the folks I've met are not only tremendous wordsmiths but also talented photographers. I feel lucky every day to have in my home prints by Sophia and Eliza who graciously sent me high res jpegs of their work. Imagine the near impossibility of knowing these women, from Australia and Africa, before the internet. Imagine the chance even with that of meeting, of becoming friendly, of supporting each other's work, of sharing talent and beauty with someone you might never meet in person.

One writer-photographer, Terri, who captures spectacular scenes from nature once mentioned a lovely thing she'd heard about cardinals: that they're messengers from loved ones who've died, come to visit, offer some peace and love, or serve as a reminder of someone we miss.

Nanny always loved watching the birds at her window feeders. When Nanny became largely chair bound, Mom hung a feeder directly in her line of sight. As do most of us, she'd curse the squirrels and their Houdini methods of gluttony. But mostly she'd enjoy the simple act of watching birds come to feed. She liked cardinals' flashy red coat. I wonder if the scarlet hue reminded her of the lipstick and nail polish she always wore as a younger woman.

I imagine the way she watched the birds is the same way she used to watch her children and grandchildren eat the food she made them- simple, delicious food that never seemed to run out.

A few years ago, a copper birdfeeder caught my eye, and on a whim, I bought it. It boasts no fancy design or aesthetic. It just seemed sturdy, and I like copper. I hung it from the sugar maple in our old back yard, from a branch I could see from pretty much every window on the back of our house. And I came to relish every single visitor, though I did, on occasion, curse the squirrels.

We now have two birdfeeders and and an even greater variety of winged visitors to them. We also have more capable squirrels. They are eating me out of house and home, and recently, Jack and I greased the pole on which one of our feeders hangs. We waited for hours to watch a squirrel be foiled by our plot, but to no avail; the grease didn't slow those buggers at all.

In any case, I see cardinals every week, and I am certain that each is Nanny. Or at least that each is a reminder to think of Nanny and some bit of wisdom or cooking tip or grace that she shared with me before she died. 

Two-year-olds and eating well and going to bed

Y'all!

I have SO forgotten what it's like to live with a two-year-old. As such, this is what I feel like right now.

Two-year-olds are adorable but they are very messy and often loud, despite having relatively few words. They like to drag food around the house with them, discarding like tiny Hansels bits and pieces as they go. Unlike Hansel, no toddler intends to return along his meandering path, not least with a dustbuster. 

I adore my precious nephew, but I have forgotten about tee-tee fountains and the utter delight of made up names for things. I am now hazy on obsessions with things like helicopters and the associated sound effects that go along with frequent reminders of them. Dunh-dunh-dunh-dunh say the chopper blades. 

Memories of the very emphatic ways that two-year-olds can express "No!" burbled up from the recesses of my mind in recent days. I was reminded of the genius of Mo Willems describing a melting down toddler as "going boneless" in Knuffle Bunny. If ever I describe anything so perfectly, I'll feel accomplished to the max.

I have somewhat forgotten about watching young tots learn stuff. How they practice and practice and then one day say "turtle" in the most endearing "tuh-tle" way. And there is nothing like the gut laugh of a little one. I love, love, and will do anything for the moments my boys still guffaw like toddlers do.

Mom left yesterday, and before taking Elia and Leone to the airport this afternoon, we had a little birthday party (Leone likes Baked & Wired cupcakes as much as we do) as he is officially 2 in a few weeks. It seems like a long jump from here:

to here:

Last night, I cooked dinner, and Tom and I raised a glass to Elia. She is doing such a good job in motherhood, and I am so proud of her. We ate well, watched the debate (if by debate one means a large, rude child following a thoughtful candidate around stage and lying), and then tucked in. 

Don't those sunchokes look good?? Yum!!! Pan-roasted and then dressed with rosemary brown butter and aged Balsamic (thank you, Bon Appetit). We also had salmon and brussels sprouts and, duh, this.