I’ll be honest, we sometimes (okay, frequently) refer to our kids as “the turds”. As in, “What are we gonna feed the turds for dinner?”, or, “I need a break from the turds.” Sometimes even to their faces. They’re actually really good kids. They say please and thank you, they go to bed at 7:30 without any fuss, and Paris Syndrome excluded, they usually play really nicely together. But, they’re also stubborn (Hazy is a Taurus, born in the year of the Ox, for god’s sake), “spirited”, “energetic”, and all those other words people use to describe spazzy kids of a certain age. And of all the things I could call people who sometime wake me up 7 minutes before my alarm clock goes off, turd is actually the least offensive.
But yesterday, the turds made me proud.
First, we stopped by my office, which they’ve been dying to see, where they ate fruit, Swedish Fish, colored with Leslie’s highlighter collection, and did Vend-A-Friend, a project I worked on where you take a short quiz, get paired up with your perfect PJA friend-match, and get a little gift from the vending machine. Hazy got paired with Ken, our Director of Creative Services, which is convenient, because she’ll probably be an Art Director someday. Or probably just a Director, or whatever the profession is for people who are good at telling other people what to do.
Then, we wandered around Harvard Square to dole out some backpacks we had packed (not made, Hazel: “we didn’t sew them, Mama.”) for homeless people. They were filled with toiletries, snacks, and a nice note from Hazy. We had two for men and one for a woman, and as we drove to find a parking space, we saw someone who may or may not be a woman. I said I wasn’t sure if that was a lady, and Hazy said, “we could just ask, ‘Are you a lady?’.” So, needless to say, I was a little worried what the kids might say to the homeless people. But I shouldn’t have been. The great thing about kids is that they treat everyone the same. So, when I introduced them to my homeless friend, Alistair, they didn’t hesitate to make friends. George was patting him on his knees within seconds. While we talked with Alistair, another man came up and started talking with us. He told us he was Miles Davis’s son, and I have to admit, he kind of looked like he could have been.
After our good deeds, we were rewarded with an appearance by the famous One Man Band!
He invited the kids to join the band, and it was pretty magical. Out of all the instruments, they chose the hula hoop. Then, we stopped by the Harvard Book Store, walking past Alistair on our way (George: “HIIIIII, ALISTAIRRRRRR!” like he’s a rock star), and had the pleasure of seeing a book being made.
I’d like to say they both ended the day with 10 minutes of one-on-one time, but they did not. Hazy, 7; George, 8.
Today, Grammy is being my personal hero and is coming down to stay with the kids AND watch Beatz, while Matty and I go to a birthday party/viking funeral for the one-of-a-kind friend we lost, Laurie. Tonight, let’s all salute Grammy and pour some out for Laurie.