Now it’s Daddy’s turn under the blog microscope. I’ve written so much about matrilineage and mothers and daughters … he hasn’t gotten enough airtime. I don’t have the same arsenal of quotes so I’m forced to rely on my own words and thoughts. That’s Poppy at Thanksgiving 2002 with a baby Grace. And he still looks the same. My father, in whose image I chose a husband!
Seriously: my Dad is one of four boys, and was raised in a very competitive, male-oriented family. It was all about intellectual rigor and proving yourself. He and his twin both have PhDs (Dad’s from MIT, no less), as did my grandfather (who designed aircraft for Grumman, including the famous Apollo). And yet somehow Dad adapted seamlessly to being the father of two girls. There was never, for a single second, any doubt we could do and be whatever we wanted. We were encouraged, coached, and loved unconditionally. Conversations with my Dad, while much rarer than I wish, are still one of my favorite ways to spend my time. He’s coming over for some wine and dinner tonight, and I can’t wait. His intellect is so broad that he ranges comfortably from historical commentary to discussion of the current state of the world to offering very insightful advice into particular life questions. I love you, Daddy!

A week’s flown by. Last weekend was jam packed as usual. A highlight was Saturday morning brunch with two friends from HBS – Brett L’Esperance (middle, with his three children) and Margo Dhaliwal (right, with Colin). We get together so rarely, as getting the calendars in synch is like aligning stars, but when we do it’s always really great to catch. Our children play nicely together (watching Gracie and Ella lying on their stomachs, heads bent over a book, was enchanting) and we have lots to catch up on! Sectionmates starting businesses, starting families, starting over. Seems amazing that it was eight full years ago that we started out in Aldrich 9. Brett was married to Emily, but Margo and I were just dating our now-husbands. And now look: six children between us! Wow!

Louise Erdrich and Michael Dorris wrote amazing dedications to each other in their books. Of course we know now that their story ended badly, but their extraordinary love affair is reflected in these brief phrases. For some reason they’ve always really captured my imagination.

From Louise to Michael:
To Michael
U R Lucky 4 Me
(The Bingo Palace)

To Michael,
Complice in every word,
Essential as air.
(The Beet Queen)

Michael,
The story comes up different every time and has no ending but always begins with you.
(Tracks)

From Michael to Louise:
For Louise,
who found the song and gave me voice.
(Cloud Chamber)

For Louise,
Companion through every page, through every day. Compeer.
(Yellow Raft in Blue Water)

When I was in grade school I spent my summers at Cape Cod Sea Camps in Brewster. That place remains near and dear to me as the only constant in a childhood of flux. I spent 11 summers there. The point of this is that I remember after every summer (I used to go for 3 weeks, and then 7) my father would remark, with a sigh, “Linds, you grew up a whole year in three weeks.” Which is how I feel after being away from Gracie for 24 hours this weekend. She went to New Hampshire with our former (dearly beloved) nanny, Andrea. She came back on Sunday afternoon and I felt like she was 10 years old. I can’t articulate why, nor do I have specific stories, but she was just all grown up and funny and full of new expressions and mannerisms.
In other news, Whit climbed out of his crib on Friday. Every parent’s worst nightmare. This necessitated a rush hour drive to Natick (don’t recommend that) to go to Baby Depot at the Burlington Coat Factory (recommend that even less) to buy a crib tent. Now the little man sleeps in a very securely strapped-on cage. Grace refers to it as “Whit’s trap.” I wonder if he understands more English than we think and his tantrums upon being zipped in are because he knows the way we think about the “cozy tent.”
Oh, wow, time’s a-flying.

That’s my girl. The one with that special firefighting midwife gleam in her eye. I’m not kidding! I find it extraordinary that Grace has explicitly decided she wants to be a midwife (which is how I’ve named the “special doctor who gets babies out”). She is fascinated with childbirth and delivery. She can sit and watch the extremely vivid childbirth video at the Science Museum ad nauseum (to Matt’s great delight, believe me). This interest has sprung up totally independent of my own interest in it. She asked me over the weekend if it is possible to be “two things at once” – of course I replied affirmatively (considering my schizophrenic existence this, too, is a choice near and dear to my heart). She then announced that she was going to be a firefighter and a midwife. I told her I might want to be a midwife as well, and she gleefully exclaimed that we could go into “business” together, as long as she could be the one who “pulls the babies out.” She then said to me, “and then, Mummy, after the babies are born, we can sell them in boxes!!!” Wow. How to respond? Matt, biting back his laughter, turned to me with an eye raise that suggested this was in fact a good business idea. I agree. Until, of course, we are arrested.