Abby was indifferent. Sellers turned his back to me and yelled, "Dad! I told you I don't want to play soccer! Why do you keep signing me up for something I don't want to do?" I could have answered any number of ways: "Because this exercise in team-building will make you a better member of society? Because I don't want you to be a wimpy, athletically-challenged geek like your dad? Because we're friends with several of the other parents and we enjoy socializing while you run up and down the field?" But the real answer is that at least four of our closest friends are psychiatrists, and we want to do our share to make sure they'll be busy for years to come. The irony is that they're both having great seasons.
After the first soccer game we came home to find Weaver World (our neighbors' wonderland of children's entertainment) transformed into Elmo's World for little George's second birthday party. Abby contributed to the party spirit by donning an Elmo costume despite the weather. Julian contributed by smearing red icing on his face.
The next day I checked one of the boxes on my life list. Our neighbor Ian was out by his 911 when I realized that for once I was free to take a liesurely Sunday drive. Ian, being the kindest, most generous, most gracious, best all-around guy perhaps ever in the history of guydom, handed me the keys. We took turns driving with the top down on a gorgeous Indian summer Sunday. I'd say we were gone about ten minutes, but Ian's wife says it was an hour and a half. If I recall from physics, time slows down as you approach the speed of light.
Speaking of cars, we've come to an important crossroads. Abby is now out of her booster seat, and Julian has transitioned from a five-point toddler's seat into a standard booster. It's not that I don't enjoy driving the sluggish mammoth that is my minivan. It's that I see it as an affront to what's left of my waning masculinity. Margaret is less threatened by minivans, but even she tires of lumbering around corners and oozing away from stoplights. So the following Saturday (after soccer and a stop at the Halloween Store) found us at Parkway Volvo Subaru exploring the possibility of no longer being a two-minivan family. The kids found the whole thing somewhat tedious, but I remain giddy. At this moment my reliable blue family truckster is at the body shop, pennance for my tendency to back into babysitters' cars. Stay tuned...
Julian is pretty sure what he wants to be for Halloween.
Sunday my giddy anticipation gave way to a sense of dread, as Margaret made her pre-dawn departure for a hypertension conference in Washington, DC. Four days of single parenting lay ahead, and I wasn't sure how smoothly it would go. We were cheered later that day by a visit from the Bachmans and the Dowlings. But that night I had three children all crying for their Mommy as I tried to prep the house for the coming week. It turns out one parent can almost do the job of two, so long as that parent doesn't value sleep. I stayed up until the early morning hours Thursday just to see Margaret walk back in the door.
Mommy returns from DC with decidedly partisan gifts for all.
The following weekend the children did better, being deprived of both parents instead of just one. When they're with Kim, a former nanny and their favorite sitter by far, they could care less if we ever return. Margaret and I were both invited to give talks at the New Hanover-Pender County Medical Society's annual CME By The Sea retreat on Bald Head Island. We shared a house with Jim Harris and his two boys, Sandra Hall and her two boys, Nancy Kotz and one of her three boys, and oh, right, none of our three children. We actually walked on the beach and talked until our soles were raw. Also we drank, ate, laughed, and chatted for hours while giant cargo ships churned their way up the Cape Fear River outside our balcony. Oh, and did I mention the kids were at home?
Nancy, Jim, Margaret, Sandra, and I consider staying on the island and starting a commune.
Jim's youngest, Sean, is not a half-bad little photographer.
This weekend marked a return to normal life, albeit a fun one. Always there's soccer, but we followed it up by getting a start on Margaret's favorite holiday, Halloween. That woman does things with purple sparkly garland and fake pumpkins Martha Stewart couldn't dream up with a hit of magic mushrooms. Sunday we made our pilgrimmage to the Wesley United Methodist pumpkin patch, reportedly the most successful of the nation's approximately 11,000 charity pumpkin sales. Hopefully this year won't see our pumpkins turn into slug hotels as they have in years past.
Margaret weathers a setback in her decorating plans.
We rushed home afterward to host a triple playdate. Margaret knocked out pans of pumpkin-themed cookies and Abby cavorted with Collette Alberts while Sellers and Good Ben (as opposed to their first-grade classmate "Bad Ben") chased chickens and Luca Alberts and Julian trashed the playroom. Luca and Julian were playing a game called "Rock Star" in which they treated the playroom as the members of Black Sabbath would treat a room at the Four Seasons. For the record, that is the last time anyone ever in the Hill house will be allowed to play Rock Star.
This week holds a promise of more travel, as I head off to Boston Friday to join my parents and Margaret's dad at the American Academy of Pediatrics National Conference and Exhibition for four days of total immersion in all things pediatric. I just have to apologize to my wife in advance. When I made my plans I had no idea how hard it was to watch the kids alone for four days. Check back in at this blog to see if we all survived, and have a lovely early autumn.
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