Tuesday, Feb. 28, 1995 (Glasgow): “Dad! Don’t make me smile, I told you!” (Drew [turning four in two weeks], obviously.)
Wednesday, March 1, 1995: I pick Drew up from school. She sees me, brightens, runs, then remembers herself. “Drew! What did you do today?” As is her reticent custom, she is not prepared to say. Later, she sticks her head through the bedroom doorway, waves a little heart cushion she’d gotten from school, pipes “I love you,” and is gone.
Saturday, Feb. 28, 1998: Spencer (one month short of his second birthday) is making flatulent noises with his pursed lips. He is also speaking very carefully, and sometimes quite understandably. He’ll say long sentence-like things and pause markedly between each word-ish sound, concentrating quite hard (and with some evident pleasure) on fixing his mouth for the next expression.
Wednesday, February 28, 2001: Caitlin and Sarah go over to the Randalls’ to babysit. Drew takes the boys downstairs. Matt (turning three in June) thinks he hears something and scrambles up onto the top bunk extremely quickly. His face is very animated. “There’s a ghost out there!”
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| Dr. Seuss, What Was I Scared Of?, 1961 |
Later Drew and I hear a kind of squeaking noise. We listen carefully and suddenly realize that the ghost is actually Spencer (turning five in a month), singing carefully with a wide and almost solemn vibrato. “Ri-ver, oh river, flow gently for me-e.” Suddenly Matt has an understanding, reassured expression on his face. “Oh. That’s Prince of Egypt.” The babysitters come back, having enjoyed their easy job of it. We read some more. I sneak Caitlin and the tell tale heart into one of the chapters. “Dad!” they say, but smilingly.
Friday, March 1, 2002: Sharon takes Matt (turning four in June) out on her errands, and I take Claire (just about eight months old) out on mine. What a nice afternoon! There’s an element of pride and showing off to my pleasure, as this mild, smiling, carefully crawling infant reflects extremely well on her parents. But for all that worldly admiration the most pleasing part is that I got to hold this pretty child, waking and sleeping, for a good four hours. Their struggles bring stretching and hard won, complex bonds, but when kids are as good as gold something disarming, affecting and simply special takes place.
Friday, February 28, 2003: I make a presentation at Ben Unguren’s after effects class, in the hope that the students will make some little animations for CMI (BYU/TMA's Children's Media Initiative). During the break one cold-eyed student remarks that I’ve just trotted out my usual litany of terms—sparseness, transcendence, compassion—but that that very overfamiliarity, together with the icy intellectualism that characterizes most everything that I do or say, rather invalidates the whole exercise.
Spence (seven in one month) doesn't think much of the movies I'm bringing home. “It’s not called half-of-the-family cinema, Dad.”
Saturday, March 1, 2003: Caitlin makes us dinner. Carbon hot dogs, one of her specialties. All the girls go to the mall, and enthusiastically. Is there no way to resist this mercantile impulse?
Tuesday, February 28, 2006: The boys have their blue and gold (cub scout) banquet. Richie Maughan (our Bishop) strolls up to a woman of about the same height and shape and hair colour as his wife. He finds, after patting this woman on the bottom, that she was not his wife after all. The stake primary will have something extra to report about this activity.
