Skip to main content

Josh on V-Day

 I haven't written much about the love affair between my husband and my little toddler. It is what you might imagine. When Marc comes downstairs, there is literally always an elaborate game of peekaboo; Josh sometimes shrieks as he tries to track Marc's disappearing head. (The thrill!)

Parenthood can do strange things; for example, it you can give you superhuman levels of tolerance for a short film called "Five Little Ducks." This is a cartoon in which a mother loses her ducks--one by one--until five have disappeared. There is a verse for every missing duck. Every. Damn. Duck. And my husband actually returns to this movie--with glee--several times per day.

Both father and son like contact sports, so Josh will sometimes charge at Marc's legs--with his walker--and Marc will form a "human vee" at the last moment. Under the bridge!

This Valentine's Day, my family is of course spending a great deal of time with the hippos George and Martha, and specifically "The Secret Club." In any George and Martha volume, the two hippos are pretty consistently misunderstanding each other until the fifth story, when some kind of explicit truth pops up. In "The Secret Club," a fifth-of-five story, George wants Martha to avoid a clubhouse. Martha, impetuous, breaks in. George, embarrassed, reveals that the club is a fan-group devoted to the worship of Martha. "I hope you've learned your lesson," George says. Blushing, Martha makes a rare concession: "Yes. I certainly have."

Happy Valentine's Day to you.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...