Chicago, Vol V
Greetings and salutations. It's been since December since I polluted your inboxes with the tales of Watson frivolity, and what better way to spend a Sunday night then to write an update. My mother asked why I had not sent one lately, and I said that I feared it would read like this....
"Today, in Chicago, it snowed. This was following yesterday, where it snowed. And the day before that, when it didn't snow, but was really cold. Oh, and the day before that it snowed....."
Well, having survived February in the city where they report the temperature in Kelvin, enough has happened that I can at least attempt a cursory update of the household. First, I must introduce additions to the mailing list, two of the most important woman in my life, Aunt "Jett" and Grandma Ford. For those on the list that are not blood relatives (I was going to say family, but like it or not, you're all family), Aunt Jett is my Grandpa Watson's sister, and Grandma Ford is my mother's mother. Each are partially responsible for many of the wonderful traits I have (Regis, stop coughing), especially my biting sarcasm.
Besides fighting the cold we have been relatively "low-key." Which, to the trained eye accustomed to reading these updates, means that things have been absolutely insane. All three kids are involved with extracurricular activities; Annie loves ballet and gymnastics, Maggie has been enjoying "Daisies" which is a precursor to that cookie sales cult they call "Girl Scouts," and Jimmy plays basketball. All three continue to humble us with their performances in school, proving that either Gregor Mendel's theories on genetics are way off, or these things skip generations. All of these activities have kept us from pursuing any local adventures. Sadly, this means that we missed the festivities in nearby Mount Horeb, Wisconsin on February 18th, which as you all know is the anniversary of the flight of Elm Farm Ollie, the first cow to fly (and give milk) on an airplane.
Our neighbors continue to be one of the great things about our "new" house [insert caveat about how none of you can ever be "replaced" and these are just "rookie friends" and you all are the "veteran/experienced/tried and true friends" that are in the Hall of Fame of Friendship]. A couple of Saturdays ago, we walked two doors down to the 40th birthday party for Joe Corso, hosted by his wife Jen, and their sons Jack (10) and Matt (8). About twenty of our friends from the neighborhood were in attendance. We had been at the party for about 30 minutes, when, as I stood in the kitchen, I was approached by The Boy, who was bleeding as if he had been cast in a Tarantino movie. He was not upset or crying, just calmly stated, "I'm bleeding, and I don't want stitches." With that help of an ER doctor, who was in attendance at the party, we got the bleeding stopped. Unfortunately though, the cut was such that it needed to be closed. We went over to the local hospital, and The Boy waited patiently for the doctor, even asking me to take a picture of the cut with my cell phone so he could see it. Right now, my father is saying "are you sure he is your kid" as he reads this, because I would have been wailing and holding on to the nurse's leg at that age. And, well, at this age, to be honest. Anyway, he got a single staple in the top of his gourd (administered with a staple gun, which is the craziest thing I've seen in person), they cleaned him up, and we went back to the party. Yes, you read that correctly - we went back to the party. You have correctly guessed, at this stage, that Jimmy was the life of the fiesta for the remainder of the evening.
Sometimes in this forum, I receive responses accusing me of exaggerating the exploits of my children. In particular, my mother feels that I bend the truth with respect to my youngest, the extraordinary Ann. For example, I relayed once, that I asked the kids for ideas on what to do while Regis was out of town, and that Annie had recommended commandeering some alligators on which we could then ride. In response to the slanderous allegations that my sweet daughter would never suggest such a thing, I submit the attached picture. Note how badly the girl with the pink pants wants to throw a saddle on that reptile.
This time next week, Regis and I will be in Italy, our first vacation sans infants since May of 2001 when we went to Scotland. My sister Joan, who is in Rome this semester, will be our tour guide for the occasion. I will be sure to report later with details of our sights, though without any stories about the kids it will probably bore you all. My parents will be watching them for the week, so it might fun for Mom to write on that experience; it could be called "Chocolate Cake For Breakfast - Grandparenting the Ford Way."
"Today, in Chicago, it snowed. This was following yesterday, where it snowed. And the day before that, when it didn't snow, but was really cold. Oh, and the day before that it snowed....."
Well, having survived February in the city where they report the temperature in Kelvin, enough has happened that I can at least attempt a cursory update of the household. First, I must introduce additions to the mailing list, two of the most important woman in my life, Aunt "Jett" and Grandma Ford. For those on the list that are not blood relatives (I was going to say family, but like it or not, you're all family), Aunt Jett is my Grandpa Watson's sister, and Grandma Ford is my mother's mother. Each are partially responsible for many of the wonderful traits I have (Regis, stop coughing), especially my biting sarcasm.
Besides fighting the cold we have been relatively "low-key." Which, to the trained eye accustomed to reading these updates, means that things have been absolutely insane. All three kids are involved with extracurricular activities; Annie loves ballet and gymnastics, Maggie has been enjoying "Daisies" which is a precursor to that cookie sales cult they call "Girl Scouts," and Jimmy plays basketball. All three continue to humble us with their performances in school, proving that either Gregor Mendel's theories on genetics are way off, or these things skip generations. All of these activities have kept us from pursuing any local adventures. Sadly, this means that we missed the festivities in nearby Mount Horeb, Wisconsin on February 18th, which as you all know is the anniversary of the flight of Elm Farm Ollie, the first cow to fly (and give milk) on an airplane.
Our neighbors continue to be one of the great things about our "new" house [insert caveat about how none of you can ever be "replaced" and these are just "rookie friends" and you all are the "veteran/experienced/tried and true friends" that are in the Hall of Fame of Friendship]. A couple of Saturdays ago, we walked two doors down to the 40th birthday party for Joe Corso, hosted by his wife Jen, and their sons Jack (10) and Matt (8). About twenty of our friends from the neighborhood were in attendance. We had been at the party for about 30 minutes, when, as I stood in the kitchen, I was approached by The Boy, who was bleeding as if he had been cast in a Tarantino movie. He was not upset or crying, just calmly stated, "I'm bleeding, and I don't want stitches." With that help of an ER doctor, who was in attendance at the party, we got the bleeding stopped. Unfortunately though, the cut was such that it needed to be closed. We went over to the local hospital, and The Boy waited patiently for the doctor, even asking me to take a picture of the cut with my cell phone so he could see it. Right now, my father is saying "are you sure he is your kid" as he reads this, because I would have been wailing and holding on to the nurse's leg at that age. And, well, at this age, to be honest. Anyway, he got a single staple in the top of his gourd (administered with a staple gun, which is the craziest thing I've seen in person), they cleaned him up, and we went back to the party. Yes, you read that correctly - we went back to the party. You have correctly guessed, at this stage, that Jimmy was the life of the fiesta for the remainder of the evening.
Sometimes in this forum, I receive responses accusing me of exaggerating the exploits of my children. In particular, my mother feels that I bend the truth with respect to my youngest, the extraordinary Ann. For example, I relayed once, that I asked the kids for ideas on what to do while Regis was out of town, and that Annie had recommended commandeering some alligators on which we could then ride. In response to the slanderous allegations that my sweet daughter would never suggest such a thing, I submit the attached picture. Note how badly the girl with the pink pants wants to throw a saddle on that reptile.
This time next week, Regis and I will be in Italy, our first vacation sans infants since May of 2001 when we went to Scotland. My sister Joan, who is in Rome this semester, will be our tour guide for the occasion. I will be sure to report later with details of our sights, though without any stories about the kids it will probably bore you all. My parents will be watching them for the week, so it might fun for Mom to write on that experience; it could be called "Chocolate Cake For Breakfast - Grandparenting the Ford Way."
posted by Watts at 12:15 PM
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