The Queen of Vocab

Claire just referred to her three-year-old sister as "a sniveling little bandit." I believe this tops her earlier (and nicer) word-related achievement, which was to describe a snail as being "a buttery pumpkin color."

She did clarify that "bandit" was an appropriate descriptor here because "first, Jane steals things; and second, she doesn't listen to you." When I what not listening had to do with being a bandit, Claire looked surprised and said, "Well, because bandits don't listen to the police."

Quote of the Day

Margot: "Mommy, did you know that I'm going to be a squirrel tamer when I grow up?"

Just remember that you heard it here first.

Chicken Parts

05-26 009
Originally uploaded by Carrie Fletcher & Don Wiest

Last month, we headed the Berkshires to spend a long (and amazing) weekend with good friends. We headed out of town on Friday evening, stopping at Russo's in Watertown (the most amazing food store ever) to load up on car-friendly dinner foods. In our family, "car-friendly dinner foods" would include, among other things, an entire rotisserie chicken. Those of you who know Don will understand why this is the case. (The "car-friendly" category also includes brie and baguette, but that's another conversation.)
We made short work of the chicken, and before finishing it off, Don asked whether anyone wanted some of the remaining dark meat. My suggestion that Claire might like some dark meat was met with her prompt clarification that she, in fact, detests dark meat and only likes the breast.
Margot, always the peacemaker, amiably followed up by saying, "Well, I like dark meat. I like all parts of the chicken: chicken legs, chicken wings, chicken bras, chicken fingers . . . "

Manah Manah

No explanation required. This is classic Margot + classic Jane. You have to watch until the end, which is where they really get into it.

MVI_8452, originally uploaded by Carrie Fletcher & Don Wiest.

Timeliness (Or Not) - And the Consequences Thereof

I had to work late last night, and Don was charged with getting home by 8:00 to relieve Lindsay. And those of you who know Don are aware that he has, on occasion, had a more flexible understanding of, well, time, than other people might have.

At about 7:30, Lindsay called me and offered a bet on whether Don would meet the 8:00 deadline (she even gavehim a three-minute grace period.) If he did make home by 8:03, she'd give us a free hour of babysitting. If not, we would owe her a paid hour off. Although I had some reservations, I cast them to the wind and threw my support behind my husband.

As the hour drew near, the following email exchange took place:

On Thursday, April 30, 2009 at 7:58 PM, Lindsay L wrote:
Cell phone = $150
T pass = $60
An extra hour pay = $18
Don being here on time = priceless

On April 30, 2009 at 8:00 PM, Carrie Fletcher wrote:
I'm afraid you win - he just called me and he is at the Green Street T stop. I don't think he can walk home in 3 minutes! He says that, since he's already lost the bet, he might as well hit the bar and stay out all night.

On April 30, 2009 at 8:03 PM, Lindsay L wrote:
He can't hit the bar, he left his Hello Kitty shirt here! So I know you must be kidding.

THIS IS WHY I LOVE LINDSAY.

The Afterlife (from the Three-Year-Old Perspective)

Not surprisingly, the girls continue to talk about missing Charlotte. Claire announced this morning that she knows that Charlotte is watching us all the time. Jane cheerfully added, "Yeah. Charlotte is at Kevin's house, so she can see us." None of us were quite sure what she meant by this, so we did some follow up:

Me: "Whose house?"
Jane: "Kevin's house."
Me (confused): "Did you say that Charlotte is at Kevin's house?"
Jane: "Yes. Kevin's. And she's not coming back to our house."
Me: "Who is Kevin?"
Jane: "Charlotte is at Kevin's house. In the sky."
Claire: "I think she means heaven, not Kevin."
Jane: "No. Kevin's house. The one in the sky."

Despite several attempts by her sisters to set her straight, Jane remains steadfast in her belief that our dog is now smiling down at us from some house in the clouds owned by a guy named Kevin.

A Sad Day at 9 Park Lane

Tonight, after 14.5 years, we had to say goodbye to our lovely and very old dog, Charlotte. It was hard enough for me to do - Don and I got Charlotte from an animal shelter when I was a youthful, 24-year-old law student -- so she has been with me for most of my adult life. Watching the girls confront the reality of Charlotte's death is very difficult, though - much harder than dealing with my own feelings. She has been a fixture in their lives from the moment that each of them came home from the hospital. Charlotte - particularly after Jane's arrival - displayed a consistent and almost incomprehensible tolerance for being climbed on, pulled around, and (on occasion) dressed up in doll clothes.

The night before Charlotte died, she was up every hour or two. I checked on her each time to see if she needed water or wanted to go out, but she didn't. Instead, she went from room to room, climbed into bed with each of us, slept lightly for an hour or two, and then climbed down and went on to the next bedroom. At one point I found her on Claire's bed, standing over Claire's sleeping form and just staring intently at Claire's face. Then she settled down, put her head on Claire's shoulder, and rested for another hour. By the time morning came, she had spent time curled up next to each member of our family.

It's hard to put into words how much she will be missed.

Only in Massachusetts

We're getting ready to drive to West Virginia for spring break in a couple of weeks, and today I asked Don whether he thought we should get the puppies groomed before we head out of town. Margot overheard me and exclaimed, "What??" in a totally startled voice. She followed up with an alarmed, "Mommy, what did you just say?" Baffled at her obvious shock, I said, "I just asked whether Daddy thought we should get the puppies groomed before we go to visit Nana and Papa." She immediately responded, "Wait! Ollie and Hugo are getting married??"

I Spy A . . .

Lindsay took the girls out to dinner tonight. During the course of the meal, they played a rousing game of “I Spy,” which led to the following conversation:

Margot: “I spy something ripped.”
Claire: “Is it my napkin?”
Margot: “No.”
Claire: “Jane’s placemat?”
Margot: “No.”
Claire (after many creative guesses): “I give up. What is it?”
Margot: “That girl’s shirt over there.”
Claire: “The pink one?”
Margot: “Yep.”
Claire: “It’s not ripped, it’s supposed to be like that.”
Margot: “Then why can you see her nipple?”
Claire: “She was probably breastfeeding right before she got here.”
(People sitting at abutting tables begin to chuckle.)
Jane (screaming): “I want to SEE A NIPPLE!!!!!”

Happy April Fools' Day

Today's conversations about the ideal April Fools' Day joke reveal quite a bit about the (very different) ways in which Claire and Margot approach the world.

On our way into school, Margot and I stopped in to visit her teacher from last year, to whom we were delivering a sugar brioche from our local bakery. Miss Shea asked Margot if she had an April Fools' joke planned for her current teacher, Ms. Cable. Margot enthuisastically responded that she did. She then described the joke: "First, I will say, 'Ms. Cable, I am going to bring you a treat from the bakery tomorrow.' Then I will say, 'April Fools!! I have the treat for you right now!!' and I will give her a sugar brioche! Isn't that a great joke?!"

About five minutes later I was out on the playground saying goodbye to Claire. We were chatting with my friend Susan and her daughters, who were telling us about a series of funny and cute pranks they'd played on each other that morning. I explained the "joke" that Margot was planning to play on Ms. Cable, and then we made the mistake of asking Claire if she had an April Fools' joke in mind for her teacher.

Claire: "Yes, I do."
Susan: "Oh, what is it?"
Claire: "I'm going to pour glue all over her chair."
Me (horrified): "Claire, you can't do that. It's totally inappropriate."
Claire: (silence)
Me: "Claire, you can't do something like that. Ms. Ciardi would be very upset."
Claire: (silence)
Me: "Claire, I'm serious. That is not funny."
Claire: "Well, I think it's pretty funny."