crooked house

Beckett's Fail Better

Although this is the finished print, if I were still teaching the first grade, I think I'd make up similar work sheets for my class to complete. They'd make a fun display. (See also Beckett for Babies, one of my own failure, of which there are many.)

Impossible Pie and Cheeseburger Cupcakes

I made Impossible Pie -- have you ever heard of it? -- on the weekend and wrote about it for The Awl. I also made cheeseburger cupcakes, which excited Vivi no end. We had to have a mock birthday party for her with them.

My Article For Brain, Child Magazine: Who We Think We Are

Some months ago I did a little genealogical research and discovered that my children are descended from royalty. I wrote an article about it for the current issue of Brain, Child magazine: 

Friedrich III, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and his wife Eleanor of Portugal were, Ancestry.com told me, the thirteenth great grandfather and grandmother of my husband! There were even pictures of them—well, paintings. There was Great Great Grandpa Friedrich getting introduced to Great Great Grandma Eleanor by the pope, as painted by Pinturicchio. There was a portrait of Friedrich looking steely-eyed and a bit jowly, the way my husband sometimes looks while watching his favorite hockey team lose. And here was a portrait of Eleanor peering wistfully at a flower, something about her expression, the lines of her face, reminding me of my son’s when I told him enough with the video games.

Because excellent records are kept by royalty—in a sense their family history is everyone’s history—once you find a connection to a king, it is possible to go back for generations and generations. I surfed for hours, looking at photographs of a golden crown that had once rested on the head of the fifteenth great grandfather of my children. I started planning summer vacations to the palaces their ancestors had once lived in. I began researching language tuition in German and Spanish for the children, never mind the fact that their ancestors lived so long ago they would’ve spoken entirely different versions of those languages. Basically, I stopped just short of writing to request invitations to Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding.

With their bloodlines becoming clearer, some of my children's quirks began to make sense. The way my six-year-old son still wanted me to dress him in the morning, as if I were his valet. My two-year-old daughter's insistence on wearing a pair of golden slippers at all times and her particularly erect posture and imperious manner. ("Play cars, Mama!" she commands with a little wave of her hand and a slight, dignified inclination of her head. "Sit here!" she orders, pointing to a particular spot on the floor, her stern expression demonstrating that she will not tolerate dissent. "Dis one, Mama!" she says, handing me her preference when I pick up the wrong one. And then, "Vivi's turn first!")

This intriguing discovery was, for lack of a better word, brief. You'll have to get your hands on a copy of the magazine to find out the rest.

Keep Them Fresh Longer

An extremely odd vintage ad for cellophane. From Save the Baby! (I would, if I knew exactly what you meant by "save.")

Just Go to Sleep: Dad Goes to Extremes

Happy Holidays from the Crooked House, Mom Version

One of these years we'll get organized (haha) and get someone else to take the photos so we can all be in the same picture. Anyway, happy holidays to you and yours!

Happy Holidays from the Crooked House, Dad Version

So I never did get around to making a card or even an e-card out of our family Christmas photos. My last minute plan was to make the e-card on Christmas Eve and send it out on the day but I was felled by a virus on Christmas Eve, which made for a wobbly Christmas Day. There is a lot of work involved in Christmas when you are a mother and things sort of fall apart when you're not on your game. But we muddled through.

Here is Sylvie, getting angry because the yellow ornament sticker will not stick to David if she puts it on upside down, which is, in her opinion, the only option.

Here she decides to give it a try our way.

 

I love the pleased look on Luke's face here and also the fact that I did not try to comb an already grumpy Sylvie's hair. This is what she looks like most days.

 

It's Time To...

Freak Out and Throw Stuff.

Sylvie's New Bumbo Toilet Trainer Seat

This is Sylvie's fancy new Bumbo toilet training seat. She is so thrilled to own it, she is wearing it on her head like a drunk at a cocktail party might wear a lampshade hat. When she was momentarily placed on it correctly, over the toilet seat, on the off chance that she might like to pee like a big girl, she promptly burst into frightened tears. Peeing like a big girl is scary, I guess, even when you have an extra-cushy seat to sit on.

Why Sylvie Isn't Trick-or-Treating

She HATES her lion hat. And refuses to don any other even vaguely costume-y item of clothing. We tried the lion stuff; we tried pirate stuff; we even tried angel wings and Anne of Green Gables stuff. All to no avail. She is pointing and laughing at these pictures as I type but heaven forbid I try again.