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Before Daddy arrives home, the babysitter considered snapping a picture of the matchy-matchy twins to send to Papa, who is away for a birthday weekend in Austin with Uncle Chris. After Daddy shows up, she insists. Entirely unintentional, of course, and made weirder when Cory notes, while setting up for the shot, that Victoria should be in the picture herself. Daddy and Fisher look up to consider Victoria’s dark blue top and pale orange skirt.

F (at bedtime): What does matchy-matchy mean?
D: It means that your clothes are the same. Like today we were all wearing blue and red. We were matchy-matchy.
F: No, we were match-matchy-matchy because you wore that, too.
C: Fisher, no. We were matchy-matchy-matchy-matchy. Four matchies. Because Victoria.


F: Daddy, did you dress Victoria too?
D (laughing): No, Fisher. It was just a coincidence.


F: Daddy, what does Quincy-dints mean?
D: That’ll be our big word of the day, okay?
F/C: Okay.
D: What are some of our other big words?
F: Antagonizing.
C: Desiccant.
D: Any others you can remember?
F/C: Um…
D: What was the air when we first got in the car earlier this week when it was super duper hot?
F: Um, I don’t know.
C: Startify.
D: That’s close, Cory! Stultifying!
C: Stultifying.
F: Daddy, what does Quincy-dints mean?
D: It means something that matches or works well but wasn’t planned. It just happened. It was kind of lucky.
F: It was lucky that we all wore blue shirts today?
D: You could say it was a coincidence.
F: But, you dressed us, Daddy.
D: But, I didn’t plan to make us all look the same.
F: Oh, thank you, Daddy!
D: For what?
F: For making us lucky today!

“Coincidence” a concept in progress. Happy Birthday Weekend, Papa!

An Unidentified Pink Object

The kids dance their end-of-year kindergarten recital. They step in time. They hukilau. They naenae. About as well as five/six-year-olds can. This picture might not fully convey that Fisher spent a good chunk of the performance fixated on a perplexing pink object stuck to a beam on the ceiling.

F (silently mouthing something equivalent to Daddy, pointing upward a good portion of time): Daddy, look! There’s something up there.


F (mouthing to Daddy while classmates hat dance): What is that?

But, the picture should. Convey that chunk-of-the-performance fixation, that is. Because that’s what he did. The girl behind him, however, did *not* spend a healthy chunk of the time, um, digitally clearing the pathway to her sinuses. Oblivious as she was to the unidentified pink object flying above her head, she did show off the rest of her moves…which were really quite impressive. Well, they were cute.

As were everyone else’s. Including the rest of Fisher Bug’s. When he could see past the pink thing to make them, that is.

Uncle Glenn’s Makeup

C: Daddy, what is makeup for?

When shortness of time requires that sunblock be slathered on her all at once, Cory gets irritated. She prefers the spa treatment.

D (placing a dollop on the back of the left hand and using the right to dab): Thanks so much for coming into the spa today, Miss Cory. We have a really special cream to work into your skin today. I think you’ll really appreciate its..
C: It’s like makeup.
D: Well, in application, sure, Miss Cory, but this cream is so clear and moist. So much better for the skin than makeup.
C: Daddy, what is makeup for?
D: You know, Miss Cory, people use makeup for different things. Some people want to cover things up, even themselves out, look just that extra touch more special. But, some…
C (with authoritative tone): A lot of make up isn’t good, right?
D: Usually, not, Miss Cory. But, some people use makeup for fun. Like on Halloween or…
C: But, too much makeup isn’t that good, right, Daddy?
D: Too much is not good, by definition. Oh, Miss Cory, though, you don’t need much makeup. Probably never will. Besides we don’t recomm…
C: I won’t need as much makeup as Uncle Glenn, right, Daddy?
D (stopping the dabbing, trying not to laugh): Well, no, but he…
C (very authoritative tone): He just needs a lot of makeup, and I don’t need that much.
D (smiling and continuing to dab and rub): So true, Miss Cory. So true. Some people need more makeup than others do.
C: And Uncle Glenn is one of those people, right, Daddy?
D: I am not going to argue with you, there, Miss Cory. You’ll get no argument from me on that score. Now, close your eyes but relax. Don’t clench them up. I can’t work this in right if you clench…

Having a part-time drag queen in the circle of friends has its uses, here, drawing the “too much makeup” fire away from all the women…

An All-Day Orange Line

The Y offers a Parents’ Night Out on Friday night. The kids beg to go and stay out with their friends later than last time. Papa and Daddy accede, dropping an excited pair of twins off, all pajama’ed up, heading out to dinner and a movie, and picking the kids back up at 10 p.m. — no, *after* 10 p.m., as Cory would remind anyone asking. Everyone had fun. It was fun anticipating Friday night. It was fun during Friday night. It was NOT fun after Friday night.

On Saturday morning, they fight before breakfast about spots on the bed. They argue about which cartoon to watch. Fisher apparently gives Cory “a mean look” at the table. They whine about Cheerios, first too many, later too few. Or too soggy. They run away from Daddy when he tries to get them ready for soccer. “I don’t want that shirt!” “That hurts my toe!” “You pulled my hair!” “I know you just don’t want to be nice to me!” “You forgot to pull the tongue!” “There’s something in my shoe!” They bicker in the car. He wants windows down. She wants them up on her side. Then, she wants them up on his side. Still too much wind.

All morning…they pinch each other…they make faces at each other…they say mean words to each other: argue and whine, until the soccer whistle sounds. “Go, guys, go. Your coaches are calling for you.” They march over to line up on the orange line with the rest of the kids. Daddy sets up a spot on the sideline. He closes his eyes to enjoy the nice morning sun while soccer sounds waft around.

When eyes reopen, Daddy checks out the trees, a few birds, the sky, a few other parents moving here and there, before adjusting to find the twins. They are on the orange line, their attention drawn to the coaches, their behavior moderated in the face of the crowd. As he watches, their arms edge out, pulled toward each other, reflexively or involuntarily…until…

They stay like that, seemingly without realizing it, until the coaches break the group from the orange line. Too bad the coaches ever had to break the group from the orange line. An all-day orange line was exactly what Saturday needed.

Honoring Mom

How to honor Mom today? She loved geraniums. Unfortunately, I hate them so I couldn’t honor her by snapping a picture of any that belong to us. She loved Englebert Humperdink. Um, no. Just no. She always ate fresh tomatoes in the summer, just tomatoes freshly salted. But, tomatoes aren’t quite in season yet.

So, I settled on tacking a wicker basket in some open space on a wall. The twins didn’t get it, but anyone who ever visited our house when Patsy was alive knew that her greatest enemy was empty wall space, in the face of which her staunchest ally was a wicker basket.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom…