Getting lucky at the art museum

"Sir William Pepperrell and his family." Copley, 1778.

You've got to admire an art museum docent -- and for anybody like me who had to look that word up, a docent is a museum guide -- who sees a mother with four children -- including a two-year-old being reprimanded for spitting on the floor and an infant imitating a shrieking hawk -- and not only doesn't run away but approaches them with a large smile and offers to give them a private tour of the American collection.

Maybe admirable isn't the right word. Maybe the word I'm looking for is "crazy." But I digress.

"Bridal Veil Falls, Yosemite." Albert Bierstadt, 1871.

For a while I'd been promising Catherine that we would visit the museum in search of the Pepperrell Family portrait by John Singleton Copley. In her art class she was inspired by the painting's story: The portrait shows a mother, father and their four young children surrounded by wealth and luxury, their vast lands rolling out behind them. Indeed, Lord Pepperrell was once the richest man in New England. But he chose the wrong side of the war and lost his wealth. And then, on his voyage to England, he also lost his wife.

The painting, which was composed after the wife had been dead for two years, is the story of what might have been had war and death not intervened.

Vincent's rendition of "Bridal Veil Falls." See the deer on the left side?

For reasons that aren't altogether clear, this painting made its way to North Carolina. So when Beverly the Docent asked if we were looking for anything in particular, Catherine couldn't wait to tumble out the whole story, and her enthusiasm struck Beverly so much that she insisted on taking us to the painting herself. For the next 20 minutes she and Catherine chatted about art -- Catherine observed that the mother was paler than the others and that she seemed to be looking off in the distance, and Beverly confirmed that Copley did this on purpose because the mother was already dead. Catherine also observed that Copley used light to illuminate the mother and children ("Like Rembrandt!") and that up close you could see the thick application of paint ("Like van Gogh!").

At that point Beverly turned to me and said, "Wow. You must be doing something right."

"The Garden Parasol." Frederick Frieseke, 1910

Vincent chose that moment to observe that he was bored, and Dominic spit on the floor, and shortly thereafter we found the exit.


But the kids came away from the museum with a new appreciation for stories behind the paintings. When they came home they spent the afternoon recreating two of the paintings they saw there -- Albert Bierstadt's Bridal Veils Falls and Frederick Frieseke’s The Garden Parasol. 

Catherine's "The Garden Parasol."

As for myself, I came away with a new appreciation for kind docents who see rowdy little kids not as savages to be tamed, but as spirits to be inspired. 

That's PRINCESS Monica to you

It would give any parent pause to come across their two sons standing over their infant daughter, swords pointing at her tiny forehead. Nerf swords, but still. Yet I managed not to lunge at them and instead merely inquired, "What are you guys doing?"

"Oh, we're just knighting Monica," Vincent said, and Dommie chimed in, "Yeah! Monica prin-tess."

If you've been to our house lately, you know that Dommie is in a knight phase. Okay, maybe that's an understatement. Ever since he discovered the TV show "Mike the Knight" he has been completely obsessed. First thing in the morning he puts on his boots (giraffe boots, but let's not get picky), gloves (bike gloves, the kind without the fingers), and helmet (a spray-painted plastic cookie container), and grabs his shield and sword. Then he stomps around the house proclaiming "Me knight!" God help us all if any one of his accoutrements is unavailable: Yesterday we had a little incident involving his gloves and blue paint (he should have listened to his mother and taken the gloves off to finger paint), and I had to dig into an old bag of stuff to find replacement gloves (green gardening ones) so that he would stop hollering "Need glubs! Me knight! Need glubs!"

And now, the knight has his very own prin-tess.

Monica's baptism

I had to swear up and down to my mother (hereafter to be referred to as "The Keeper of the Baptismal Gown") that I would not wash, bleach, treat, soak or dry it in any way, but Monica Elizabeth was baptized today in a 100-year-old baptismal gown passed down on my mother's side from her grandmother. This makes four generations that have worn it, and I am happy to report that it is still intact after today's baptism. It helped that Monica slept through the entire ceremony and then most of the reception.

And now, after a long but great day, all I've got left to do is stain-treat the gown, soak it in bleach for a while, wash on high heat, then tumble dry. Hi, Mom.

New baby, week 1!

You'd think that a new baby would get her own post on the blog sooner than a week after her birth... not so. If she'd sleep a little more, maybe. Actually, she is not a bad sleeper (I've had worse, VINCENT) and her disposition thus far is quiet and sweet.

So how are the kids adjusting? Well, I was most worried about Dominic, because prior to her birth one of his favorite phrases was "Hit baby!" Plus, he tends to tear around the house with his sword and guns and screwdrivers, none of which are very compatible with a newborn. But since meeting his little sister Dominic has morphed into her biggest fan and every morning asks me, "Where's baby? Give kisses!" When she cries he sings her "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "Rain rain go away."

Catherine has appointed herself Monica's personal stylist. I think this had something to do with all the people complimenting us on our cute little BOY when I took Monica out in her green and yellow duds. Catherine was highly affronted, and as soon as we were home she plopped one of her pink headbands on Monica's head.

As for Vincent... well, he's interested in her... but she rates about the same as a really cool firetruck. He did insist on picking out her outfit for later today when she inevitably poops through her first one, but I think this had more to do with a four-year-old's fascination with poop rather than any interest in how she looks.

All in all, life is much easier than I expected with four. We've made it to the store and the park and on nice long walks just fine. And we are grateful to all the people who have brought by meals and gifts! Thank you all!

Roger pulls a tooth... and a prank

So I would like to confess that I am indeed a WIMP of the first degree when it comes to teeth. It has something to do with having EIGHT TEETH YANKED AT ONCE (Mom, are you reading this?). A year or so ago Dommie fell face first into our brick steps and I was certain he had knocked out his teeth, so I did what any mature, responsible mother would do: I called for my mom to come over and refused to look into my screaming baby's mouth until she got there.

Anyway, it has long been a Lorelle family axiom that Roger has to handle all teeth-related emergencies (I'll do childbirth, he can do teeth). So tonight, it happened -- Catherine's tooth became hanging-by-a-thread loose. She and Daddy decided the mature, responsible action would be for Daddy to pull it (ugh!). Obviously they are crazy. As they negotiated the Tooth Fairy's rates and readied themselves for the Great Tooth-Yanking, I took a nice long walk with the dog... and came home to what can only be referred to as the comeuppance for my dereliction of duty on the teeth front.

Video 1: Cruel, heartless Roger sets up his joke
Video 2: His poor wife becomes the butt of his joke

The burning of Prairie Ridge

Well, we all know that Lent is a time for self-reflection, and I thought maybe a little self-reflection might be necessary when I got really excited about an email I received one afternoon with the subject line "Prairie burning tomorrow!" Then I decided, nah, no time for self-refection, we've got a fire to go to!

It was one of those opportunities that just don't present themselves often, sort of a jewel in the rough (or a fire in a field, as the case may be). The occasion was the controlled burn of a prairie at a local eco-system, which helps control invasive plant growth, thins out the shrubbery, and prevents inconvenient lightning fires.

But let me address the most important question: Were the firetrucks there? Why yes, they were! And we ignored completely the "baby" Forest Service pickup trucks and followed Dominic straight to the hook-and-ladder trucks ("Big ire-truk! Big ire-truck! Me drive! Yea!").

We watched from the deck of the outdoor classroom, and we were allowed to get surprisingly close (close enough to identify the numerous rats, mice, shrews and rabbits that scampered from the prairie to safety). The Forest Service and Prairie Ridge staff answered all of our questions patiently (Me: "What kind of invasive plants do you generally see?" Catherine: "Are the animals okay?" Vincent: "Can you set more fires?" Dominic: "Me drive ire-truck?").

In two weeks the prairie grasses should start rejuvenating, so we'll be heading out there again to see the regrowth in action. But somehow, I think it might be a little disappointing, and that all I'm going to hear is "Where big ire-truck? Me drive?"

Disney!

Back from Disney, and the good news is Dominic didn't hit a single princess, although he and Vincent both looked like they were going to gag while Catherine greeted Belle and Aurora. What we learned about Vincent -- who claims his favorite part of the trip was eating Dippin' Dots ice cream (we could have saved a lot of money and done that at the local mall) -- is that the kid is game for anything. If it's fast, if it's loud, if it's scary -- he's in. Meanwhile, in Catherine's case, if it's fast, if it's loud, if it's scary -- count her out.

What we learned about Dominic is that after 20 minutes on your shoulders, he gets a wee bit heavy. But it's better than having him chase the birds. Or the princesses.

We did Magic Kingdom, Epcot and Seaworld, and by dumb luck we were able to catch things like the Celebration Parade and the killer whales performance. We also stopped off in Savannah, maybe hoping to catch a little culture to offset the inane commercialism of Disney (a bottled water was $4!!!), but that was a big bust. Ask Roger about the guy dropping barbells in the gym at 2 a.m.

I'll let the pictures and videos speak for themselves... 

Videos:
Catherine meeting Princess Belle
In Venice (Disney's Venice, of course)
The ubiquitous "It's a Small World" ride
At the Princess Castle (and not at all excited)

And then I poked him in the eye

I love how asking a four-year-old a direct question -- when you KNOW they've done wrong -- never gets a straight answer. Instead their voice rises to levels of earnestness brought on only by remorse (at being caught, I'm sure) and the resulting "explanation" is like something out of a drug-induced dream sequence. I'm convinced that when Vincent "explains" why Dominic is crying, he's hoping I'll get bored halfway through his soliloquy and drop the inquisition.

The latest answer, after I heard a piercing scream from the boys' room and found Dominic clutching his eye:

"Well, we were playing dump trucks, and I was the dump truck, but then we got out real dump trucks and I said, 'Dommie, do you want to play real dump trucks?' and Dommie said 'Yea!' so I got out our dump trucks and then he dumped out EVERYTHING from the drawer and I said, 'Dommie, do you want some chocolate chips?' and he said, 'Yea!' and so I went to get us chocolate chips, and we filled up our dump trucks with them and I said, 'Dommie, do you want some marshmallows?' and he said, 'Yea!' but we were out of marshmallows and then we knocked over the chair and then we decided not to play dump trucks anymore because Dommie wanted more chocolate chips, and then he got out the eggs and ripped off the top and I said, 'No Dommie! Mommy will be so mad!' and he said, 'Yea!' and then we went back into my room and started playing dump trucks again. And then I poked him in the eye."

Partners in Slime

Saturday morning I was home with the boys while Catherine and Roger took the van to be vacuumed out (or something equally exciting), and I asked myself, "Hmmm, what kind of fun activity can I do with the boys?"

The obvious answer, of course, was "Make homemade slime." So a Google search later, we had a slime mixture of Elmer's glue and Borax that absolutely thrilled the boys. And by "thrilled" I mean they started throwing it at each other across the table until Mommy yelled at them to stop. Then they took baths to clean the slime out of their hair. Let's hear it for buzz cuts.

But the point is that the brothers really do get along well. Anything Vincent does, Dominic does, right down to trying to wear his shoes and jackets. Hero-worship at its finest.



It's like Vincent has his own little echo. If Vincent calls out, "Hey, let's be monsters!" we'll hear a tinny "Monsters!" behind him. Or, "Hey, let's be aliens!" "Aliens!" "Hey, let's be cowboys!" "Cowboys!" We probably ought to give singular credit to Vincent for his brother's recent onslaught of vocabulary.

Imitation is flattery, right? I think another way of putting that is that there is nothing as much fun as a big brother.