Or maybe a colander.

Our little spot of paradise received an inch of water in a very short time yesterday, along with high winds and thunder and all the other bits that make inclement weather so interesting.

Of course, we lost power, too. But only, as it turned out, for about two hours.

In that two hour period, however, my house showed how it is different from a sieve or a colander. Want to know how? Well, a sieve or a colander, while it allows water to pass through it, also by design permits the water to drain away. My house, while it shares the function of allowing water to pass through it, wants instead to retain the water and not permit it to pass away.

We had 8 different leaks in 5 different areas of the house encompassing 3 different floors. 8 leaks. I am quite certain that my entire kitchen ceiling will need to be replaced. (In fact, that reminds me, I need to call my insurance company). Well, my insurance company will most likely disclaim coverage, as I have just found out. I am not shocked. I just called because I would have felt like an idiot for not investigating the possibility of making a claim.

The roofer is coming by today, this morning.

At present, I still don't hate my house. Yet. The time, however, may be coming soon.

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Christina, at Justdotchristina has had a horrible thing happen -- her house was struck by lightening and burned down. She has also had a wonderful thing happen -- no one, no child, no person, no animal was injured.

God was looking out for you that day, my friend. And I'm so glad.

Please send her your prayers, your thoughts, and any good ideas you have for kitchen and bath remodeling.

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1 She and Dash are already talking about that

Posted by: caltechgirl at July 12, 2006 05:13 PM (pku0F)

2 Oh, honey, it was so good to hear your voice last week. ; ) Yes, lots of somebodys were looking out for us. Thank you!

Posted by: Christina at July 14, 2006 02:31 PM (d3PqG)

3 Just left her a comment - Terrible tragedy, but it looks like they need more than a kitchen and bath remodel so I'm confused.

Posted by: Mark at July 16, 2006 01:14 PM (r/w14)

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Thanks for nothing.

Verizon lost internet service yesterday in large parts of NYC. Our office lost internet connections and our email. All has been restored. Took about 24 hours but finally back.

In the meantime, I renew my desire never to go into a business venture with a family member, other than my father, I suppose.

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We are up to Tuesday, the day after I spirited the children away to the Oslo Fjord.

I have a very old, very dear friend who has a Norwegian father and an American mother. We have been close since we were two years old, throwing rocks in a pond together. His father is a retired Norwegian diplomat and his parents are living in Oslo. I have known them forever and I love them. So, going to see them was practically a requirement. Off we went, just me and the kids as, once again, the Viking Bride was laid low by the sleep problems of the littlest viking.

Our friends live near Frogner Park (link is to pictures of the Vigeland sculptures there). (more photos here). We didn't go to the park this time. It was raining, off and on and a bit chilly. The only bad day of weather we had the whole trip.

We had a lovely visit with our friends. This was the first time I had seen their apartment since they had renovated it. The apartment was lovely. Huge windows, full of light, generously proportioned with a fireplace in the dining room and the living room. The dining room was banquet sized with an elaborately painted ceiling, original to the building. The rooms all had stunning plaster moldings. High ceilings, hardwood floors, the works. It also had an interesting arrangement I've noticed in other Oslo apartments. The front hall is self contained and differently floored -- tile, I think. It is closed off by doors from the rest of the apartment, which makes sense when you consider the cold winters they endure in Norway.

The building is rather historic, built in 1889 by Henrik Bull (link is to a Norwegian language biography but it does have some nice pictures, partial English langauge bio here), a famous Norwegian architect. I think that this must have been one of Bull's first commissions since: "Henrik Bull etablerte sin egen arkitektpraksis i Kristiania i 1888. . ." Or, he established his own architectural practice in Oslo in 1888. Bull went on to build a lot of well known buildings in Oslo, including the National Theater and the Historical Museum.

It was quite cool to visit a building he designed.

Cool, by the way, being the operative word under the right conditions since the building lacked any central heating system.

After lunch, my sister in law spirited the kids away to see Ice Age II, in Norwegian, while I browsed my way back up the main shopping drag to take the train back to my in-law's house.

It was a lovely afternoon, spent in the company of dear old friends, in a beautiful apartment with an impressive historic pedigree. And they served beer. Really, how much more could you ask for? And before you do, let me note that my friend's mother served homemade lemon ice-cream that the children devoured.

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Saturday began without direction, without plans, without any ambition other than to have no plans, no direction and no ambition. We were planned out, the Viking Bride and her dashing consort (that'd be me, in case you weren't sure), and still somewhat tired from the trip. The children and I were enjoying a quiet breakfast together en trois when I happened to notice a small advertisement in the local paper for an event that evening. I seized on it as a sign from above, as inspiration striking, and so, in a move not necessarily calculated to endear me to my bride, I picked up the phone and invited my parents to come out with us that night. Then I bought me some tickets.

Now, before I get to the main event, taking this as it came that day, we first had to hit the pool/ beach, as the weather was gawgeous. So we did. And then came naps for the kinder. And then, why then we headed off to bring the children to their first ever minor league baseball game.

Go, Bluefish!

There is something magical about minor league baseball. It was a lovely summer night, not too hot, cooling breezes, cold beer, hot dogs, and splendid seats five rows behind home plate on the first base side. We also had a view of the train tracks so the Boy Child could continue to shout, with great excitement, TRAIN!, every time a train went by. We had hot peanuts and the kids sampled cracker jacks for the first time. It was also kid hat giveaway night, which both puzzled and delighted them. The mascot was not as big a hit -- the teeth on that fish were just a bit too long for the comfort of the Boy Child.

But just sitting there, teaching the kids to yell, batterbatterbatter, swing, batter, was worth it. Even my father had a good time.

There is something wonderful about minor league ball, with the potato sack races and spin around the bat until you're dizzy races, and the giveaway Ct. Light and Power t-shirts they fling into the stands. Something so downright delightfully hokey, such a fun combination of not too serious marketing with the national pastime. I don't know, just sitting there in the stands of this intimate little stadium was uplifting. I tell you, baseball is healing.

My wife wants to go back for our next date night.

By the way, I think I had the nicest compliment from the Girl Child as I tucked her into bed last night. I asked her if she had a nice weekend (we also went to the pool and then a local fair to ride the rides on Sunday -- that we me petrified of heights climbing up the huge slide stair case to ride down with the Boy Child -- he was fine, I was terrified) and she said: "Pappa, it was the best weekend ever!" Take that, working parent guilt! Hah!

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1 As an adolescent girl-child, we went to the AA ball field in my home town quite frequently. The big draw was the San Diego Chicken. The park was always crowded for that particular fowl and I got to sit on the grass just to the left of the opposing team's dugout. Oh. My. Nice. . .um, pants. I'm so glad you had a good time. I've wonderful memories of summer evenings and free hot dog night, myself. Missed ya. xoxo

Posted by: Margi at July 10, 2006 01:00 PM (cyksu)

2 Good show. Isn't it great when they say things like that? That is one bellicose looking fish, I might add!

Posted by: MCNS at July 10, 2006 04:50 PM (QVIhH)

3 Very cool. Maybe I'll run into you at Harbor Yard one of these weekends. I actually haven't even been to a game yet this season, but I intend to soon. I'll be the guy yelling things like "Aw, come on! Yoko Ono has better pitch control!" and "Geeze, this game has more foul balls than a rooster convention!" Good times.

Posted by: Tuning Spork at July 12, 2006 09:05 PM (bjxZN)

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I suppose I feel a little like talking about how I spent my summer vacation. I do not intend this to be a blow by blow account. I am, as always, writing for my own pleasure, because I enjoy seeing the words dance across the screen, because I wish, by writing, to try to better fix the memory of what transpired. In fact, I lack the time to recount everything in this one entry so I will just get some of the beginning bits down. So, to the substance.

We arrived on Saturday after an all night flight. I recall almost nothing of that day at all. Not a shock, since I did not sleep on the flight, having occupied my time primarily with making sure the Boy Child, who was asleep on the floor of the plane, did not keep pushing his head out into the middle of the aisle for someone to accidently boot it as they passed. He was persistent, just the same. It was a long flight.

Monday was the first day I can recall particularly enjoying. The weather was beautiful. So beautiful, that I packed the Boy Child and the Girl Child into my mother-in-law’s car and she drove us down to the docks to take a boat out to Hovedøya Island, in the middle of the Oslo Fjord. The Viking Bride, exhausted, stayed behind with the baby. I try to get to the Oslo Fjord as soon as is practicable whenever I arrive in Norway. Especially in the summer. There is something magical and almost healing about being on the water. I suppose that goes for anywhere but it feels particularly powerful in Norway.

So, I bought the kids some candy and a bottle or two of water and off we went. Oslo maintains, much like city buses, a small fleet of city municipal transport boats that run on a regular schedule between the various islands in the fjord. We took one of these. We sat on the top of the boat, out in the sun, and got off at Hovedøya, a large island with a beautiful beach, ruins of an old (1100's) monastery, and left over fortifications from the time batteries of artillery were placed there to protect the harbor. We walked to the beach, over the island, to the other side. It was glorious weather and the beach was not at all crowded. The Girl Child immediately waded into the water and was soon helping a bunch of other girls make mudpies – all the while chattering away with them in Norwegian. The Boy Child stuck a bit closer to me and we sat quietly together on the rocks overlooking the water. We all later gathered some beautiful small sea shells. After a quick shower to take the worst of the mud and salt off, we adjourned for lunch at the café. Following lunch, we went off to explore the ruins. According to the kids, this may have been the high point of the day. The ruins were covered over with wild flowers and the sky was very blue. I let the kids clamber up and over whatever the felt comfortable climbing on and I let them explore to their heart’s content. I got some great pictures of them and when I download them from my camera I will consider posting one or two.

On the approach to the island by boat, I noticed a battery of old cannon and I sort of recalled being there one time before, about 10 years ago. So, after the monastery, I marched my little troop off to find the battery. We marched around half the island and failed to find it. We did, however, enjoy walks through forest, wild flower covered fields, wild raspberry patches, and along paths following the coastline of the island. It was, all of it, gorgeous, even if the Boy Child was concerned that his feet were getting “very busy”. I knew that meant he was tired so we took a candy break. Do not give a three year old boy a chocolate bar and not expect him to become a chocolate monster with brown smears all over face and hands. Fortunately, there were wipes. Plenty of them.

I hoisted the Boy Child on to my shoulders for the walk back to the dock and happily got on the wrong boat with the kids. We added 15 more minutes to our journey this way and got to see a couple of more islands. The islands are covered with small, what were once, summer cottages. I think that many of them have been winterized now. We ate the rest of the chocolate on the boat. However, this time, I held the Boy ChildÂ’s chocolate for him. The Girl Child, naturally fastidious, did not need any help.

It was a wonderful day.

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I have, as we are fond of saying in my office, returned with my shield and not on it. Actually, as far as visits to in-laws go, this was among the best. I attribute that to my decision to strike out on my own a bit, to leave my kids with my in-laws, and to make my own way in Oslo. Since I have a number of friends and made some appointments for myself, it was not too terribly difficult. Just had to suffer through a number of interminable family dinner parties at night, really. The days, however, the days were mine.

A full report to follow. When the jet lag clears. The baby, unfortunately, senses weakness and was up three or four times last night. I am a bit tired.

Sunday I was swimming in the Oslo Fjord and today I am back at my desk. I feel like the arm of a record player dropping back into a well worn groove. I'm not sure I like it. I usually find some comfort in routine. Today I wonder whether routine, while often pleasurable, comes at the expense of imagination. You follow along, like the milkman's horse, and forget to lift your head, to look at the horizon.

In other words, were it not for kids, I feel the need to go on an adventure. Quit the job, move to Oslo, and see what happens. I bet I could find something. Certainly found some beautiful apartment listings on the web.

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Norway is beautiful and we are here. Sounds like a postcard. The trip over was very not very pleasant. The Boy Child was apprehensive. When the Viking Bride got up to change the baby before the plane took off, the Boy Child was hysterical that the plane was going to leave Mamma behind. No reassurance calmed him -- he was certain his mother had to leave the plane to go to the potty and no one would hold the plane until she returned. Very sweet.

Upon arrival, we lingered in a very long line at passport control. The Boy Child wandered about 10 feet or so away from me and called back in a loud clear voice, as only a 3 year old can:

Boy Child: Are we in Norway?

Me: Yes

Boy Child: So, where are the trolls?

All the tired people in the line laughed.

More to come when I am less tired. Thanks for all the good wishes.

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We leave tonight for Norway and return the afternoon of July 3rd. I anticipate not a lot of privacy to blog so you should equally anticipate not a lot of blogging. I think I can best sum up my feelings about this trip by relating an anecdote, an interchange I had with a friend in the gym this morning:

Me: See you in about two weeks!

Friend: You off traveling?

M: Yup.

F: Business or pleasure?

M: Neither. I'm going to see my mother in law.

What more could I possible add to that?

Be good, y'all.

And pax tibi.

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PG Wodehouse, that is.

I have been invited, as a guest, to a dinner of a select club of Wodehouse enthusiasts. It happened, serendipitously, as a result of my remarking at a breakfast meeting that if my acquantaince sat at an adjoining table, I would lob rolls at him. He got the reference immediately and an invitation issued shortly thereafter. I should add that I had no idea this fellow had any connection to anything to do with Wodehouse. I have just always felt cheated that I could not be a member of the Drones Club, where you could throw rolls around to your heart's content.

My reaction to spending a whole evening chatting about Wodehouse? Unmitigated glee.

October cannot come soon enough, I tell you.

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1 WTF is Wodehouse?

Posted by: shank at June 21, 2006 12:02 PM (+H1yK)

2 Now, if it's a fancy dress party, you must go as a pierrot. You simply haven't a choice in the matter. Make sure you don't do anything that will get you a writeup in the Ganymede Club's books.

Posted by: Kathy at June 21, 2006 12:39 PM (1Wsmy)

3 No, no - If it is f.d. and RP wears glasses, then he simply must go as Mephistopholes. And spend the evening talking about newts. Or, he could take the Horace Pendlebury-Davenport route and go as a Zulu warrior. So many choices. Perhaps we should get Claude "Mustard" Pott to open a book on what clothes he actually wears to the fete.

Posted by: Robert the Llama Butchers at June 21, 2006 02:16 PM (piZDb)

4 Your Man could not object to packing one of these for the weekend.

Posted by: MCNS at June 22, 2006 01:03 PM (QVIhH)

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My son, the Boy Child, has a rather intimate relationship with his poopie. He's three and a half, remember. We had the following interchange I want to preserve. He was sitting on the potty while I was changing out of my suit.

BC: Pappa, the poopie wants me to move up on the seat.

Me: Ok. Did the poopie tell you that it wanted to move.

BC: Pappa. The poopie can't talk. Poopie don't have mouth. [tone: earnest, but thinking I'm an idiot]

Now, while the poopie cannot talk, it does have a keen sense of adventure, as shown by this conversation my wife just sent me:

The Boy Child calls from the bathroom: "someone come wipe me!" I step in to perform my maternal duty. Then he asks "where does the poopie go? does it go to the bushes to get some chicken nuggets? or no, maybe waffles? or does it go to the city to see the dinisaurs?"

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but these days, you could call me Sporadicus. I post sporadically. The problem, as I see it, is one of sleep deprivation. Sleep time is when your short term memory is transferred to your long term memory. If your sleep is interrupted, you dump your short term memory and never achieve long term memory. As my sleep is very interrupted, I am pleased when I can simply remember my own name and terribly pleased if I can recall how to spell it. My telephone number, at this point, is regrettably beyond me entirely.

I hope to blog more regularly soon.

Although, in that regard, I am off to Norway on Friday for 10 days. Posting may not be very convenient until my return. We'll see how it goes, ok?

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I know, if I didn't know before, that I am terrible creature of habit and when I break a habit or deviate from a pattern, well, it doesn't work so well for me. Proof of concept: I turned from my usual position at my desk to talk to a colleague about an assignment he wants some help with. I put my coffee cup down at a convenient spot during our chat and then resumed what I was doing prior to the chat. Later, when I wanted some more coffee, I looked at the cup's usual spot and, voila, no cup. So, I assumed I had finished my coffee and thrown out the cup. I was just now pleasantly surprised to discover my wandering coffee cup precisely where I left it. Never would have thought to look there. I guess I am officially in a rut.

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While perusing the NY Times this morning on the way into Gotham, I noticed an article in the Science Times discussing the benefits of breast feeding. Among the many, many benefits is that breast fed babies are less likely to be obese later in life. I gather that these babies develop a better on/off mechanism in terms of full/not full.

Is it just me or do you also see a new diet craze sweeping the covers of next month's men's magazines? Straight from the tap, my man.

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Inspiration, that is. I've been waiting all day.

I just got off the phone with a lawyer in Ohio who is going to instruct his NY client to retain me to handle the winding up of a business. I heart new retainers. It won't necessarily mean a lot of money but right now, I like it a lot. See, its shiny and new and pretty. No muss, no fuss, no annoyances. Just a theoretical retention and a chance to meet new people and learn about their new problems. The ennui will come later, in its own time.

The weekend was so wonderful and wholesome. Really wholesome.

* The Girl Child insisting on going to temple. Staying for only a half an hour, maybe 45 minutes, before leaving. The Boy Child inquiring about the manque de snacks.

* Trip to the library.

* Picnic at the beach on a bluff overlooking the ocean, followed by the kids racing around a huge swath of grass.

* Trip to playground followed by dinner with my father outside overlooking the harbor.

* Sunday starting with a trip to Southport harbor to see the sailboats and walk around:

* Trip to Rye for brunch with my step-grandmother (who attended the Girl Child's graduation from Pre-School and cried the entire time).

* Long visit to Playland (warning, link brings up annoying music) to watch the kids ride and shriek with happy terror on some of the same rides I rode as a child when my grandfather used to take me there.

The whole weekend was delightful, although I seem to have finished it even more tired than when I began it!

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Overheard at the table next to us, in the local Irish pub, asked by a 20 something kind of hipster/skate boy cleaned up to be respectable at the office:

To the waitress: Do you have Guinness here?

I expected the whole room to fall silent at that and am shocked it didn't.

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So, New York really is a collection of small towns. I grow more and more convinced by this everyday.

I was up in the East 50's today, delivering the baby’s passport application to the Norwegian Consulate so that we can take him to Norway as a Norwegian citizen, since he, like the other kids, has dual nationality. I had a funny exchange with the passport guy, by the way. We were discussing the intricacies of Norwegian citizenship law (I will spare you) when he told me that everyone always asks him why Norway can’t do it the way the Swedes do it. I interrupted him in mid-sentence and said: “I have been married long enough to a Norwegian not to give a shit about what the Swedes do or don’t do.” He laughed very hard.

Anyway, going up in the elevator, I noticed on the floor listings, the name of a company I sort of recalled. Turns out it was a company that a friend of mine took over after the founder, her father, died. That friend, let’s call her “L”, was someone I met many years ago taking Norwegian lessons together. See, she was also an American married to a Norwegian. We became good friends and also all four of us became friends. We lost touch after she and the Norwegian, “A”, divorced some six years ago.

So, after finishing my business with His MajestyÂ’s Representatives, I stopped by the office, on the off chance my old, lost, friend was actually there. Well, right place and right person but she had stepped out so I left her a note. Nice coincidence, thinks I.

I decided, after the huge lunch I had with clients today, involving a sinful portion of truffled creamed spinach, I decided to walk back to the office.

On the way back, my cell phone rings. I stop to answer it, turning off Park Avenue onto the steps of a random office building to get out of the pedestrian traffic stream. There, who do I spy on the steps above me? A. LÂ’s ex-husband. I had lost touch with him, too, you see and had otherwise no way to get into contact with him. I had been planning to ask L when I spoke to her, but, no need.

The universe is truly a random place and New York City is a collection of small villages.

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My train passes over at least three decent size rivers before reaching NY -- Westport, Norwalk and Greenwich each have one. I look at them with great attention each time I pass over them. They are always different -- be it the tide or the weather or just the way the sun happens to be reflecting off the water at that given moment. This morning I was treated to seeing rowers rowing crew. They skimmed over the water in, from my distance, total silence. The oars rose and fell as if one, coordinated by the same central nervous system. The quad sculls (four rowers) skimmed over the water as if barely touching it; on it but apart from it; existing with it but clearly not of it. The sun was barely up and reflecting towards the water and they rowed away from it, as if chasing tomorrow. It was simultaneously ethereal and the product of great effort.

I love watching crew and I particularly like crew art. The Philadelphia Museum of Art has an outstanding collection of paintings of rowers. Can't find it online at their website, but well worth a visit the next time you are in Philly.

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Yup, this is all about me.

I have never felt the demarcation, the boundary lines, the absolute separateness of my life as much as I have this week and at this particular moment. It isn't a dichotomy, it is a trichotomy (is that even a proper word?). At least three separate spheres, all of which are totally different, totally apart from each other. I just got off the phone with my wife to learn that the Boy Child has now officially gone an entire week with no, what exactly shall I call it, premature urination in the bed. The excitement I felt about that was probably all out of proportion to its importance, but still. It brought home, the excitement did, that I lead three different lives.

Life One -- Work. I spend a fair amount of time at work or thinking about work or hating my job or contemplating new career possibilities. Either way, I'm here and for large parts of it, don't want to be. Welcome to being a grownup -- you have bills, you have responsibilities, you don't always have to like it. Although I am in the process of trying to fix that.

Life Two -- Family. I am very involved with my children and love being with them and taking care of them and I delight in watching their brains grow and their accomplishments continue. Totally divorced from work, mind you. Totally compelling.

Life Three -- Me. I have a very involved personal life outside of work and outside of the family. Just in the past two weeks alone, I have: attended a couple of cocktail parties; met and chatted with an Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court; had a private lunch with the US Army officer who took over command at a certain infamous US Army Prison in Iraq in order to clean up the place after Military Intelligence made such a huge international hash of it; took part in a private viewing of pattern plates used by the printer/engraver in the creation of Audubon's Birds of America, the single most important work of an American naturalist; and have had several interesting other experiences. This is a rich life and a source of tremendous intellectual stimulation. The blog sort of fits more in here than anywhere else. When I reflect back on it, I am a lucky guy.

But all three of these things are lived primarily in isolation from each other. Very little contact between these spheres. I don't know if it is a natural occurrence but I do know that the lines dividing these things run very strong.

Do others feel this way? Or are other people better at integrating their lives, work, and family together?

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1 RP - Here's my philosophy - I enjoy my work sometimes. Sometimes, not so much. It isn't always all that and a bag of chips. But I do it so that I have the money to do the things I enjoy - Travel, time with family, friends, the music scene, et cetera. We're not so different in that regard. I think everyone is like that to a certain degree. I work to live, I don't live to work. Triptych might be a better word, eh? ;o)>

Posted by: Mark at June 03, 2006 05:03 PM (bhIRA)

2 I definitely keep my work seperate from everything else in my life. It's important to me that I make that seperation. Of course, my work isn't nearly as interesting as yours seems to be. I don't talk about one while I'm in the other. Of course, that may just be a reflection of my near-psychotic need for privacy.

Posted by: primal at June 05, 2006 07:21 AM (h+0Ih)

3 For me, the lines are somewhat blurred simply because several of my good friends are also co-workers. I interact with them at the office and at their homes. We try to leave work "at work" so that our social times are not an extension of the office, but something entirely different and on a more personal level. Sure, the office will intrude from time to time, but that usually occurs when we are verbally slicing and dicing other employees. As for integrating my family into these situations? Well, most places don't take kindly to pets so I tend to not integrate my '3-legged family' into these other lives. I think it's fantastic that you have "Me" things that you do because it is my opinion that everyone needs these kinds of activities. Being a husband and father is monumentally important, but you also have to remain faithful to "RP" and all that makes him who he is. Not sure I've really answered the question you've posed, but hey, I never pass up an opportunity to offer my opinion.

Posted by: Howard at June 05, 2006 11:24 AM (u2JaN)

4 I think that everyone, to a certain degree, compartmentalizes their lives. I simply cannot be "Mommy" all the time; yet I know that I am a mother 24/7. This was one of the most difficult things to get used to once I started working from home. I no longer had a commute to "switch gears," I was at work and I was at home and I could not run away from either. Heh. Not that my job is a career or very important. . .but you take my meaning. And I have always been a social creature -- apart from my being a typist, wife, mother, what-have-you -- and especially despite my age and weight status. God bless the Internets. Hah! P.S. Your pixilated words radiate how interesting you are and what a wonderful person you are. . .at least they do to me. But then again, I've always been guilty of reading far too between the lines. P.P.S. xoxo

Posted by: Margi at June 05, 2006 11:27 AM (BRtaN)

5 Yeah I definitely feel this way. At my previous place of employment I wasn't, for the most part, sociable with my coworkers. Most of my communication was direct and to the point. My laughter came in the form of practical jokes played to keep my amused. I'm a fairly social creature and luckily I was able to spend quite a bit of time talking to clients. This however earned me a pretty nasty reputation. Socially, I've always kept multiple social lives, basically several different groups that wouldn't typically interact, such as working on race cars, the heading to a cocktail party the next night, then off to the beach music festival. (This of course has slowed down a bit with the hatching of the phinlet). Each serves somewhat of a purpose and helps me to unwind depending on my mood / interests at the moment. Then to the house where I'm me and there aren't very many demands if the trash has been taken out, dinner has been fixed and the phinlet's been changed. The bad, or maybe it's good, part of is I don't know how I'd react if they were woven a bit more tightly together. As sociable as I am I also like my space, where I'm able to focus on whatever task is at hand.

Posted by: phin at June 05, 2006 04:17 PM (9Vcb6)

6 I thought I was so good at keeping all this stuff separate but soon found out different. I was so scared of being alone when I quit work. Somehow in the tracking of each of my lives, can you believe I had forgotten about Hub? Forgot that he would be home with me to keep me company, joke with me, laugh with me. I had even forgotten what good company he could be. Just so involved in work that I had quite forgotten that other life. But I feel confident that in you situation, your keen awareness will not allow you to forget any one of your three-in-one lives.

Posted by: Roberta S at June 05, 2006 08:49 PM (Ct4NT)

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The Girl Child is officially no longer a pre-schooler. She graduated in a lovely little ceremony this morning and I only cried at the end when they marched out and I thought I was seeing her march out into life and I wasn't ready yet. This, by the way, from the guy who needed to be warned in advance when the Girl Child was moving from newborn to size 1 diapers, ok, so take that into consideration.

She was the first one called to receive her diploma. It was alphabetical and not, as I posited to her teacher, because they were being called in order of academic standing. She waved her diploma in the air and several people called her name. These people were not related to me. Among the family attending were her grandmother and her great-grandmother.

I am so proud of her and I told her over lunch after the ceremony. The Girl Child, as her teachers pointed out, walked into that class room and didn't know a soul and immediately made three or four new best friends. Every mother I have met, or practically so, has said, "Oh, you're the Girl Child's father. My son/daughter always talks about her." The teachers said that there was never an off day for the Girl Child, that her enthusiasm never flagged, that her good will or spirits never dipped. She was just perfect. I think she changed at this school for the better. She used to be shy and hang back. She's now self confident and eager to jump into the middle of whatever activity is taking place. She grew taller and, if possible, even more beautiful.

As we left the reception, she was busy inviting her main teacher over for dinner.

Can you tell how proud I am of her? Probably.

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