Paige!

Six years ago, when Owen was about four months old, he started in day care. Some months later, a little girl named Paige joined him in the daycare baby room. They were soon fast friends and, except when separated by circumstances (Owen's move to the toddler room, their inability to drive, etc.), they were inseparable and seemed to share a special bond. We, likewise, became quite fond of Paige's parents, Betsey and Brent. After awhile, when they weren't preoccupied with stirring up trouble at the daycare, Paige and Owen were making plans to marry, with Owen going so far as to plan out such details as the names of their future twins (Coasterball & Googly-Goo). When our own twins were born three years ago, Owen left day care in favor of our current in-home care situation, and he and Paige saw each other less often. Then, last year, Brent got a job in Boston and the whole crew moved east, leaving Owen sadly behind. Separated by multiple states, a good many miles, and poor phone-talking skills, Paige and Owen have grown less close now, corresponding at first in dictated letters, then in handwritten giant-kid print letters, and now barely at all. Still, despite some passing infatuations with others (such as this), I know that Paige still holds a special place in Owen's heart. As Hayden was prattling on recently about marrying Cooper one day (while they say you should marry your best friend, there would have to be quite an evolution in the law to allow that particular marriage to happen!), Owen idly remarked that he would probably marry Paige.

Anyway, I write all of this now because on Saturday, Paige (along with her little sister and Betsey) are coming by for a visit during a Midwestern jaunt. Rather than tell Owen outright, we decided to play "Whose Coming to Visit 20 questions." Granted, it was his first time playing 20 questions, but he was alarmingly bad. He seemed to only vaguely grasp the concept of a "yes or no" question (he is smart, really he is). After 10 questions, he had only established that there were not 2, 5 or 6 people in the visiting family, that they did not live in Chicago, and did live in America. When he could conjure up yes or no questions, he would not ask logical things that would actually help narrow it down like "is it a girl?" despite some very obvious prodding and instruction from us. Instead, he would ask bizarre things like "do they live in Indiana?" (where he knows no one) or "do they have a British accent?" (again, knows no one with a British accent). Finally, with some serious help from Deanna, he ascertained it was Paige. Much excitement ensued, including his statement that there was no way he could go to sleep now and a wish that he had a time machine to flash forward to next weekend. His excitement and anticipation level have remained high all week.

So, it will be interesting to see what a year and a half absence and a year and a half of aging does to their bond. Will it seemed like they haven't missed a beat or will they be struggling for common ground? Details to follow next week. Meanwhile, here are a few photos from the Paige and Owen gallery:

Stars in their eyes.

Troublemakers. This one was taken moments after Paige and Owen knocked over our Christmas tree and moments before Owen whacked his head on a coffee table and was taken to the emergency room.

Their first house. Rather small, but when you are starting out, who needs a lot of room.

Halloween, 2005.

Cooking together.

BFFs!

Last night together, April 2008.

The Continuing Adventures of RedPlanet: Kiddie Comedian

Me: "OK boys, I've got a joke."

(three expectant little faces turn my way)

Me: "Two carrots are taking a bath. The first carrot says to the second carrot, please pass me the soap. The second carrot looks at him and says 'I can't, I'm a carrot.'"

(silence)

Me: "Get it? They're carrots, they don't have arms."

Owen: "Oh. Well maybe he could kick the soap over with his foot."

Hayden: "Or his knee."

Cooper: "Yeah, knee."

Owen: "Or they could put the soap in a well and it would come out of the shower with the water."

The Return

I have always set the posting bar low here at CloudEight, eking out an average of just over 2+ entries a month. So, given what has to be the modest expectations of my dedicated readers, when I start receiving e-mails from them asking what gives with the long absence, I take notice, dust-off the old keyboard, and start typing.

While I can offer any number of excuses for a lack of writing, and have not shied away from doing so in the past, my best bet this time around is simply to note that summer has, at long last, arrived here at our little outpost in the northern tundra. Given that summer in Chicago is approximately 4 weeks long, we tend to react when it does arrive like a ravenous dog that has been thrown a State-Fair sized turkey drumstick - attacking it with all the energy we can muster, ripping great gaping mouthfuls of tender meat from the bone.

For those of you who are literalists, "tender meat" = "summer fun." For those of you who are still struggling with this concept, I offer the following example: I kicked off the fourth of July weekend by going to the American Music Festival at Fitzgerald’s, where I was lucky enough to catch the Texas-blues of the Marcia Ball Band, the alt-country of Robbie Fulks, and the manic New Orleans funk of Trombone Shorty and Orleans Avenue, down a few cocktails and hang out with friends. During the course of the remainder of the three day weekend, we had a family bike ride, went out to eat, attended a town picnic/concert on Friday night, a parade, a family fun-fair, an all-day long party at my in-laws on the 4th followed by fireworks, and a Sunday brunch with friends. I also ran a 5K and we took a family trip to the pool. All this in addition to the more mundane but unavoidable tasks of child maintenance (including keeping them fed, their noses (and butts) wiped, and ensuring they don't stink so much that we aren't invited back places) and house maintenance (including grass cutting and the most recent installment of my weekly battle with the back license plate of our van, which persists in its taunting of me by hanging from one rusty bolt every time I think I have it securely reattached). Thankfully the weekend also included three family naps or I may have been dead at this point instead of merely exhausted.

From the "How Long Can I Get Away With This" file:
While we were driving to a 4th of July picnic in another of the seemingly endless bouts of pouring rain, Cooper asked from the back seat "Daddy, why is it raining?" He may have meant "why is it raining when we are supposed to be going to a fun picnic?", "what makes it rain?", or "what made you decide to raise us in the new Seattle of the Midwest?" Not in the mood for science or, frankly, for delving into the motivation behind his question, I gave it a theological and holiday spin by answering: "Because God hates America." That effectively shut him down for the rest of the ride.