“‘Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was.’”“Why was he eating dinner?”
“Because it was dinnertime.”
“Why was he eating dinner at school?”
“Because Hogwart’s is the kind of school where the children live there. They have rooms they live in, and they eat meals there and go to class there.”
“But where are the mommies and daddies?”
“Because the school is just for the children.”
“I don’t want to go to a school like that.”
“You don’t have to, sweetie. Right now you live at home while you go to First School, and you’ll live at home when you start kindergarten, and you’ll live at home during grade school and middle school and high school. Most schools where the students live there are colleges, and you won’t start college until you’re 18 years old and all grown up.”
“I don’t want to grow up.”
“Everybody grows up, sweetie. And that’s OK. You’ll grow up and you’ll be ready to go to college and you’ll do well there and have a lot of fun. Besides, that’s a long time off.”
“Will you still be my daddy then?”
“Sweetie, I will always be your daddy. No matter how old you get, no matter how old I get, I will always be your daddy and Mommy will always be your mommy and you will always be our little girl.”
“Sweetie, I promise.”
I recently ditched my old, clunky, static-ridden analog cell phone for a new phone. It’s smaller and it’s digital, but there’s just one problem. When I’ve tried to flip it open one-handed like a Star Trek tricorder, a maneuver one must attempt fairly often when burdened with a toddler, all I’ve managed to do is throw it onto the ground a couple of times. (If I’ve got both toddlers in my arms at once, of course, I’m in more trouble than any cell-phone call will be able to get me out of.) This is particularly troubling because my son is now picking up our (real) telephones and throwing them on the ground like Daddy. At this rate, I fear they won’t last the week.
Oh, yeah, one other thing: back on June 5 I wondered whether our cat would think the 6-cubic-yard pile of mulch in our back yard would mean that he had died and gone to litter-box heaven. Having spent the past couple of weekends moving about 4.5 cubic yards to other locations in our back yard, I can say authoritatively, and unfortunately, that the answer was yes.
In my other life, I’m a candidate for commissioner of major-league baseball (Yeah, I know the job has an incumbent, but do you think he’s doing a good enough job to stay?). When I get some time, I’m going to post on that page some thoughts on the issues that make another baseball players’ strike all but certain this year. But in the meantime, Darren Rovell of ESPN.com does a fine job of laying those issues out for the average fan.
We recently got one of those big redwood play sets for the kids and put it up in the back yard, and to make it safer, we spread about 4 cubic yards’ worth of double-ground hardwood mulch underneath as padding. Now I’m wondering if Hobbes, our 16-pound orange tabby, thinks he has died and gone to litter-box heaven. No link with this post; I’m just wondering.
So my friend Mark went down to Atlanta recently to see a Braves game with our friend Michael and brought me back a bobblehead doll of John Smoltz, the one-time starter for the Braves who, after returning from elbow surgery last season, is now the team’s closer and, as of this writing, doing a pretty fair job of it.I brought the bobblehead doll into my office and set it up at my cube on Monday. Today, two co-workers, both Smoltz fans and both female, stopped by to see it. They liked it a lot, although one of them, Robyn, announced, “His butt is not big enough.”
I don’t even want to know the basis for a conclusion like that.