My wife and I decided to take Claire, our 4 1/2 year old, and her 6 year old friend to see Where the Wild Things Are today. Wow, I think I would’ve rather stuck hot nails in my eye sockets. I won’t posit to suggest I am not about to give stuff away; read at your own pace. The whole opening sequence was really hard to watch and disturbing. The mom, played by Catherine Keener (who I can barely stand in anything), works long jobs and seems clueless, except when she has Mark Ruffalo over to dinner (for frozen corn?!) and to snog with. The only mention of Max’s dad is a globe that’s engraved from him, but there’s nothing about him at all except that this kid comes from a broken family. The sister, named Claire, and her friends have a snowball battle with Max (who by the way instigates it). He loses the battle and cries about it, as Claire leaves with her friends. Big deal. Then kids freaks out because Mom is snogging Ruffalo and bites her on the shoulder. You know what he needs? A spanking and maybe a therapist. Instead, he runs away.

He gets to a land Where the Wild Things Are, and they have cute human names like Carol and Donald. They also sound human. He arrives as Carol is having his own temper tantrum and tearing down everyone’s houses because his girlfriend left the community. (Wouldn’t you if your man threw temper tantrums?). Max brings a new element to the group and of course he pretends to be almighty, so they elect him “king”. He runs around with them for who knows how many days (there are more sunrises and sunsets in the film than stars in the sky; the beat each other, rip trees out of the ground, and are annoying. KW, the girlfriend comes back, and everything is all happy-like for about half an hour in the film. Then Max is paranoid that Carol is going to discover he’s not really a king, so he wants to make a secret compartment where he can hide while sleeping, away from his “friend”. Of course Carol gets pissed off and rips Donald’s arm off!! Yes, a kids movie, everyone. I sure bet the kids love that part. In this big fight KW decides to leave again (sure, sure, she’s said that before), and in the morning Max decides to go home. He leaves a heart made from sticks for Carol (which I suppose means, it’s ok that you’re an abusive asshole). He leaves the group and they just stand there as he floats away (no, there is not any resolution with the group). He goes back across the “seas”, lands, and runs home to his mother. She, of course, is waiting. She cries, feeds him, and she falls asleep at the table while he’s stuffing his face. The end. Ugh.

Side note. Later in the day, my daughter threw her own temper tantrum, bit a huge hole in my wife’s wrist, and yelled that she was going to run away from home to where the wild things are. Great, Spike Jones. Awesome. Thanks a lot.

Claire and I drove over to Changing Hands Bookstore today to pick up a copy of the new children’s book by Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary fame. He’s going to be at Changing Hands on Sunday signing and singing. This conversation below is a true story.

As we walked in the door:

Claire, “Dad, what’re we doing here?”

Me, “Getting you a book.”

Claire, “Awesome! I love books. Which one?”

Me, totally clueless, having no idea the name of the book. “Dunno. Can’t remember the name. Let me find someone to ask.”

Claire, stopping me in mid-aisle, “Is the book Day is Done? Is that the one, Dad?”

Me, floored. Finding my voice and suddenly remembering the title, “Why, yes Claire that is the book.”

Claire, “ok, there it is.” Pointing to the poster selling Peter Yarrow’s new book Day is Done.

Not only did she read the title, she then proceeded to get in line to go ask the cashier for a copy housed behind the counter.

My response to her mother when I got home. “How ’bout I just give her my wallet and car keys, too.”
Claire listening in and needing the last word, “Yes, and I already read it to myself in the store.

On the way home Friday from work in the car.

Claire: Dada, what are we doing this weekend?

Me: I’m not sure. We’ll ask Mama. Maybe we’ll go to the mall.

Claire: Dada, I want earrings.

Me, trying not to react: Why do you want those?

Claire: Cause Kaitlyn has them.

OH BOY.

This morning we Devon and I were busy in the kitchen, making breakfast and cleaning up. Claire had been playing in her little tent this week and pretending there were wolves and monsters and such around, requiring her to “hide” in the tent and play games.

Well, as I’m cooking I hear her scream bloody murder and run towards the kitchen. Knowing my kid and her standard volume, I barely flinched and continued my chore, concerned, but not panicked. Devon, however, caught on a bit sooner, shut off the faucet, and met her on the edge of the living room.

Claire screamed “there’s something in the cave!”. I’m thinking there is a bug and am still not too worried, but I take over hugging duty while Devon investigates the beast.

A moment later Devon exclaims “it’s a bird!”. A what?

I edge closer, still holding a hyperventilating Claire.

A dove, sitting on the other edge of our fireplace guard, calmly sits and looks over its surroundings. I pause, knowing that the flue was closed this winter, and wonder how this bird managed to get down the chimney and why it brought so much dirt into my house.

Then another thought occurred to me. How are we going to get this bird out???

I throw open the sliding glass doors as Devon removes the guard and I begin calling to this bird as though I speak the language.

It flaps wildly around the room.

So does Claire and Devon.

He runs to the garage. I run to the kitchen. I mean, I need to check on breakfast to – live goes on.

Then the bird comes into the kitchen and I scream. (It was aimed at my head, of course).

Devon charges in with a fishing net.

Seriously.

My screams panic the bird, who reroutes its course into my office. Drat! Why weren’t the other doors shut?

Devon chases after the bird; I reach for the camera.

The dove is released on the porch, flies away, and directly into our brick fence. It bounces off, lands on its back, feet in the air, and doesn’t move.

I grab a stick and flip it over, take a few pictures, leave it with a few parting thoughts, and return to the porch, happy the dog has been safely locked in the dog run…

After scrubbing our hands, eating breakfast, and going on about our day, Claire approaches me.

Mom?

Yes Claire?

I know what we can call the bird.

What?

Santa Claus!

[insert lightbulb above Donna's head]

Why Claire, that’s a great idea.  You know what mama thinks?

What mom?

I think Santa sent the dove to be sure you were being a good little girl.

No, it’s not Christmas yet.

It’s halfway there Claire; this is when Santa checks on kids.

Ah, man…

Claire sitting at the coffee table eating dinner while Dante lays under her feet in hopes of catching some crumbs, “Dante! Leave! You’re pissing me off!”

Mama and Dad’s eye brows raised toward one another.

Me, “um….” Thinking it’s my truck driver vernacular that got us to this point.

Mama, “Claire, you shouldn’t tell the dog that he’s pissing you off. Tell him he’s upsetting you. That’s an adult phrase.”

Claire’s reply. “But, Mama, what if he IS pissing me off?”

Today at karate Claire was early, sitting with other kids, and watching the other class. She suddenly shrieked, began to cry, and ran to me. “He punched me in the face!” she screamed.

I scanned the room. “Who?” I demanded.

“Him.” She pointed at a four year old boy near where she was sitting. I immediately jumped up, took three huge steps across the room, leaned down into this little guy’s face, and said “Don’t even think about touching my kid again.”

He timidly whispered “Ok” as he looked like he was about to pee himself.

Hahaha they won’t mess with my kid. The teen years sure’ll be fun.

Years ago my wife and I saw Neil Simon’s Rumors at the local college and really enjoyed it, so when the high school announced they were performing Fools, I was eager to go. They only had it playing three nights, and the kids asked me to go. On the final night, I asked Claire if she thought she wanted to go. She really had no idea what I was asking, but I figured if she freaked out, we could leave.

She was totally into the whole idea, but she kept talking about the kids dancing. I tried to explain that they wouldn’t be dancing but she didn’t get it. We got there, got pretty good seats up front (near an aisle where we could slip out), and buckled down.

The show was phenomenal. The kids were great, and my former student, Eric, who has never acted before, did a great job. Claire was wonderful. She mostly sat there and enjoyed the show. She really didn’t talk loudly or anything but asked a few questions. During the intermission, we got some water, she peed, and then we sat back down. We enjoyed the second half as much as the first, and then we headed home. Claire thanked me for taking her to the play when we got into the car, and then she conked out on me.

That was Friday. Last night I asked Claire what she wanted to do today, Sunday. She asked to go to the movies. This wasn’t what I expected so I was a little curious. I knew Monsters Versus Aliens was playing and figured she might like it. After I got home this morning from grading, Claire asked again. I got her cleaned up and dressed, and then we headed out.

We got to the theatre a little early, and Claire asked for popcorn. We got a small popcorn and smuggled in some water bottles from the store. Another girl her size had a booster seat, so I asked Claire if she wanted one. She nodded and grabbed one off the stack before we went into the theatre. Several other parents and kids came in, and the previews started. They were very loud and Claire wasn’t too happy about the noise.

The movie was almost two hours, and there was more of a plot than even The Invincibles, but Claire sat through it all and watched. She only complained a few times when it was very loud or scary.

At one point she told me that if I didn’t eat some popcorn soon, she’d eat it all. I took a handful and thought nothing of it until about twenty minutes later when I went for more. There was none! She’d eaten it all. She told me I missed out and I could use the popcorn bag for trash if I’d like. It was so rational and kinda scary.

We had a beautiful time and she thanked me. Great weekend.

Ok, I think it’s time to comment on this one. One day in 1984 I was walking home from school and my parents drove by. I waved them down and hopped into the car. They told me they were off to look at houses because before that we’d been renting, and it was time to move on. We went to this three story cape code on a major highway. The former former occupant had died on the first floor master bedroom and the basement had nice wood paneling. The next day I wrote the address on my wooden desk at school. This was midyear. Within a month we were moved into this new house on Curry Hollow Road. I finished grade 4-6 at two local elementary schools and spent junior high and high school in that house. I can begin to tell you some of the stories in that house, and some others will never leave my lips. I visited home through undergrad and then moved home (into the dead lady’s room) for all of grad school. My brother has lived there for 24 years now. My sister about 20. I lived there for a good part of two decades myself. The house isn’t the largest, the yard isn’t the biggest, and it’s on a highway. In 1993 I became a man in that downstairs basement. Through the early 1990s my cousin courted his now wife and mother of 3 children while spending most weekends living in that same basement. In early 1994 I got my largest tattoo to date on my parent’s dining room table in that house. In spring of 1995 the house caught fire. The basement was destroyed, half the first floor. That same basement where I was sleeping on a December morning in 1994 when I was informed my grandmother was dead. That same house where I lay in an upstairs bedroom with fever and chills in 1988 and was shortly diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. The house where I met with my tutors through Jr High when I couldn’t go to school. The same house from which we all three graduated from high school. The home to which my sister headed after a stint in Colorado and, years early, my brother after another in South Bend, Indiana.

My parents are getting older. Dad has bad knees (over weight, skied for four decades). Mom has bad knees (baker’s cysts), bionic hip and a terrible back (sciatic and discs). Did I mention the house has three floors? You can’t even get to the living room without going up a flight of stairs or two… and in the snow and ice, it’s even worse. They need one floor.

Now, I come to say this. It looks like I will never ever be in that house again. Never. Ever. My parents are selling it. They too are moving on like Donna and I did a decade ago. They aren’t going as far. My parents are prepared to put in a bid on a single story (with a huge basement) large home in Canonsburg, PA. We shall see if they get it.

When they talked about moving, we always told them to go for it! Curry Hollow has always been small, too small for two dogs, three children, two parents, a parade of boy friends, girl friends, friend friends, and our own families now. Mum began looking more earnestly after Christmas (now that the economy sucks and you can get a good deal); she liked the Thomas Road house, but I didn’t realize my father would run our the day after tax season to look, too. When he’s ready, my father acts quickly. Too quickly almost for me right now.

My uncle (Dad’s little brother) is in town. They all went to view this Thomas Road house yesterday, and today my parents began packing our house. Yes, Ours, still. I’ve not lived there in a decade, but I am really town now between being happy for them to have the room they need and the lack of stairs, etc… but it’s like I can never go home now. There will be nothing familiar at all with it. No sleeping on the back porch in the summer, listening to New Kids on the Block and getting my ear pierced when I was 12, or the pond where I froze my snapping turtle to death by accident. Nothing. When they say you can never go home again, now I really get it.

This feels like it’s becoming a reality. We talked about new carpets for 15 years and they are doing it now… to sell our family home. We talked about new bathroom model. Now, they are doing it. The basement acoustic ceiling has been falling down for 15 years, my uncle and brother replaced it today. Today. Took 1 day. I waited 15 years, and I will never see the ceiling, the hardwood, the paint. I will get off the plane at Christmas and go to someone’s weird unrecognizable house.

A few months ago day care added an oven in Claire’s room. It’s a small thing where they can do basic cooking without burning anyone or anything, but now Claire comes home all of the time and thinks she can cook. Typically she wants to do it without us! She’s really into making dessert for us, and the other day we almost had to eat some really odd looking Easter candy and water concoction before we convinced Claire otherwise.

Monday I came home from work and wanted to grab a quick shower before we headed to dinner. I told Claire and typically she plays quietly with some art stuff, a book or the video game. This time I came out a few minutes later (I do NOT take long showers) and this is how I found her.

To this day I don’t know what she made, but I will tell you that she used half of the vanilla I had left from Nogales, most of the baking soda and a few cups of sugar. She also finished off our icing (from a former cupcake evening) and sprinkled everything with confectionery delights. She was very happy with her project and we left it there so Mama could see it before I tossed it after Claire was deep asleep that night.