If I don't write these down I will never remember them

Our landlords have decided to sell our apartment. The real estate broker was coming over this evening to show it to someone, and Rosemary said, "Why is the real estate broker coming over to our apartment? Is he going to break it?"

R was writing a shopping list earlier, which started off sensibly enough:

"Eggs...

and milk,

and corn,

and peas,

and crispy crappies."

School Stories

Recently, Rosemary's teacher invited all the parents to come in to lead an activity. Last fall (I think I wrote about this), we were invited in to do an observation, which didn't go well. R freaked out the entire time I was there - it was clearly an unwanted mixing of home and school worlds for her. So this time both her teacher and I talked to her about Jason and/or I coming in. We'd been talking about how R and I had made granola at home, and Bethany suggested maybe I come in and we could do a demonstration of making a granola mix, and then all the children could have a snack. Rosemary replied, "Mommy can just drop it off.

Then her school friend's dad came in for his visit. He brought his guitar and sang some songs with them. R really dug it, so I tried, tried again. I said, since you liked it when J's dad came in, maybe you'd like it if Daddy or I came and visited your class. She said, "I like it when other people's parents come in, but NOT my family."

Another school story: They did story acting again and R's story this time was, "Mr. Hooper said, 'Give me back my apples!!!!!'" Here's our discussion about the story:

Me: Did you play Mr. Hooper?

R: No

Me: Who played Mr. Hooper?

R: Linus played Mr. Hooper.

Me: Who did you play?

R: I played the person walking Dylan

Me: Why did Dylan need to be walked?

R: Because he was a dog.

Me: And who took the apples?

R: The dog.

Spring! Spring! It's At last!

Met, Again

We made a trip to the Met last week to get out of the house while poor Jason was stuck at home doing taxes.

Visiting Paul Manship's bears in the playground outside:

Being the bear:

Hanging out at Cleopatra's Needle (an ancient obelisk with hieroglyphs), where Rosie tried to start a school by asking total strangers to be in her class. We also went into a pine forest part of Central Park I'd never been to before and saw a tiny little woodpecker making a whole lot of noise. A crowd had gathered near the tree he was in trying to locate him.

The sort-of excuse for going (I haven't dragged R to see art for awhile) was that she has a terrific book called You Can't Take a Balloon into the Metropolitan Museum, where a girl goes with her grandma and sees a bunch of paintings and sculptures. Here she is excited to see her favorite painting from the book,

which is this Fragonard painting of the funny lady with her little dog and her oddly knowing look.

The Doctor Is In

Dr. Rosie, that is. My mom had foot surgery early last week and so Rosemary and I went to help out. "Help" being, um, maybe not exactly the right word, unless leaving tiny toys scattered around beneath the foot of a person on crutches can count as help. Keeping her on her toes, so to speak? "Cheer up" might be better? Anyhow, we had a sweet, sunny visit -- and yes my mom is doing GREAT. Much to my surprise she was already up on her feet by the time we arrived and continued to improve quickly over the course of the week. (Although midweek the doctor did tell her she might do well to take it a little easier. She listened, sort of.)

Before we left, when I told Rosemary we were going to go down to visit Grandma and Granddad, and told her the reason, she immediately suggested she bring her doctor kit. She thought she could help Grandma Nancy and then said, "Granddad could probably use some doctoring too."

Here she is as we left home:

I chanced the trip without a stroller, and Rosemary did great. Much to my surprise, really. Some kids her age flat out refuse to sit in the stroller. Rosie's the opposite. She positively LOVES to be pushed around. Kicks her leg up and reclines like it's an E-Z Boy lounger. I guess this comes in handy when I want to get somewhere faster than toddler legs will go or (as is often the case) we schlep to the grocery store and I can fit a week's worth of food under her stroller and hanging from the stroller hooks.

Digressing: I remember when I first moved to New York in 1996, walking around Brooklyn the first day with my two new roommates, who were both born in the city. I saw some parent pushing a kid in a stroller, maybe five years old, and I said, Wow, isn't that kid a little bit old to be riding in a stroller? My new roommates just shrugged. I understand so much more now. About being a parent, of course (stroller=control), and specifically about being a parent in Brooklyn.

Here she is in Penn Station, getting the wiggles out under the big sign. We took: cab to the train to the DC metro to Granddad's car.

Later that day, cozy with Granddad.

Giving Grandma a hair cut (using doctor kit surgical tools) in the backyard:

All in all, a positively lovely week. Turns out a gimp and a toddler have similar schedules and pace.