The Children's Hour

Children grow up. Who knew? And as we are about to send yet another son off to college, I am missing these days ...


Between the dark and the daylight,
When the light is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations
That is known as the Children's Hour.


This is the first stanza of a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) called "The Children's Hour". It's a tender poem about Longfellow's three daughters who visit him in his study at the end of the day. When I was in the sixth grade I had to memorize all ten stanzas, which is probably why it popped into my head the other day. You see, we have a "children's hour", too, and it goes like this:


Between the dark and the daylight
When the light is beginning to lower,
Comes mayhem in the day's occupations
That is known as the Pre-Dinner Hour.


You know, that period in the late afternoon when everything seems to happen at once. One son is complaining about having to read "The Island of the Blue Dolphins". The other son is humming while doing his math homework. I'm on the phone because THE WHOLE WORLD seems to call during this time. My toddler, oh! my goodness! He wants to do school work, too, and a coloring book alone just won't suffice. He wants a science book, and his own spiral notebook, and an erasable pen because, you see, he thinks he's in 7th grade. He's also recently given up his naps and anything can set him off at any given moment.


No, our "children's hour" is a little different from Longfellow's, but the sentiment is still the same. In a couple seconds of peace I observe my oldest son stop humming as he concentrates on a problem, my three-year-old draw a smiley face in his "science notebook", and my middle son bent over his book, finger twirling his cowlick and his legs swinging. There is the comforting aroma of minestrone bubbling on the stove, and the autumn daylight is just "beginning to lower".


I stand there and take it all in. Quietly I whisper the next to the last stanza of Longfellow's poem, which says it all.


I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

Portrait of the three daughters of American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The original still hangs in the dining room of Longfellow's home in Cambridge, MA. The image was used during the children's lifetimes to illustrate the poem "The Children's Hour," which refers to "grave Alice" (top), "laughing Allegra" (right), and "Edith with golden hair" (left).

An Open Letter to Disney

Disney World is the magic of being a child again, and that kind of magic is a gift at any age.


There is magic in that ride on the monorail as it whisks you on a journey to imagination and adventure. There is magic in that first glimpse of Cinderella’s castle, in the whimsical landscaping where a bush is never just a bush, and in the oom-pah music and swirling lights of the nighttime parade. There is magic in a toddler’s eyes when he meets his first Disney character, in the smiles of people coming off Space Mountain, and in silly Mickey Mouse hats and Goofy t-shirts.

There is magic in that tired but good feeling at the end of the day.


And then there is this: I have visited the Magic Kingdom as a little girl, as a college student on spring break, as a young bride and, in recent years, as a mother. With each visit I’ve changed in big ways and in little ways … but you haven’t, and there is magic in that, too.


The lamp post on the corner of Main Street, the one that I leaned against while eating my first Itzakadoozie? It's still there. The Venetian gondola at the beginning of It's a Small World? Still there. The Hall of Presidents? Tom Sawyer Island? Liberty Tavern? Those, too, are still there.


The sameness of it all is truly magical.


We live in a world that changes at a breathless pace, so the fact that you are constant through the years is comforting. I like that you are the same now as when I first visited the park at age twelve. I like it that my sons have experienced exactly what I experienced, and that one day they will share this same experience with their children.


So most of all I thank you for the magic of constancy, for with it we are reminded how we  fundamentally stay the same no matter how much we may change.


And sometime soon I look forward to seeing you again under that lamp post on Main Street … I know you'll be there.

Jonathan is in T.R.O.U.B.L.E

Over the holidays Jonathan learned a horrible, no good, very bad thing.


It seems that at the end of the month when he will be traveling to Orlando for his senior class trip, Nonna and Nonno will be there, too.


You should have seen the looks around the Christmas dinner table when this little fact came out. Nonna and Nonno were excited, Jonathan was horrified, and the rest of us were laughing.


Nonna and Nonno gather information: exact dates of Jonathan's trip, his itinerary, and the name of the resort in which he will be staying. Then Nonna whips out her cell phone to make sure that Jonathan's number is in there.


"We'll stop by one evening," Nonna says. "We'll just say hi."


"No we won't," Nonno says. "We're going to come and hang out in your room."


Jonathan looks horrified.


"We'll buy you and your friends some ice cream," Nonna says.


Jonathan looks a little better. But still ...


Nonna and Nonno. In Orlando. During the senior class trip.


It's a horrible, no good, very bad thing with ice cream.

Jonathan

Life Lately: The Post with the Most (A Year in Review)

~1~ Finish the Sentence: A heated and emotional discussion on Facebook prompted this post. The topic? School and sports. Yikes.


http://ladolcevitathesweetlifewiththreesons.blogspot.com/search?q=finish+the+sentence

~2~ The Big Reveal: Extreme makeover in just seven days. Really.


http://ladolcevitathesweetlifewiththreesons.blogspot.com/search?q=The+Big+Reveal

~3~ A Presentation at the Sacred Heart Garden Festival: In which I give a presentation at the Sacred Heart Garden Festival entitled: The Peasant Kitchen and Slow Food: The Italian Approach to Food, Dining and Healthy Living.


http://ladolcevitathesweetlifewiththreesons.blogspot.com/2014/04/a-presentation-at-sacred-heart-garden.html

~4~ Bad, Bad Nonna: How Nonna totally and completely disrupts Summer School.


http://ladolcevitathesweetlifewiththreesons.blogspot.com/search?q=bad%2C+bad+nonna

According to Nonna ...

~5~ Sometimes it's nice to be published: Oh my stars ... Guest Columnist.


http://ladolcevitathesweetlifewiththreesons.blogspot.com/search?q=sometimes+it%27s+nice+to+be+published

~6~ The Lost Necklace: A story of all things that cannot be lost. Ever.


http://ladolcevitathesweetlifewiththreesons.blogspot.com/search?q=the+lost+necklace

~7~ Glory Days: In which I ask some hard questions about why we complain about how busy we are and yet we do nothing about it.


http://ladolcevitathesweetlifewiththreesons.blogspot.com/2014/10/glory-days.html

~8~ The Perfect Time: Last September I launched a dream. This June we'll live it.


http://ladolcevitathesweetlifewiththreesons.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-perfect-time.html

Serving Detention at Dairy Queen (kinda, sorta)

Dairy Queen. In our family, that's the place we go to wait while someone is serving after school detention.


And it's become a family tradition (of sorts) because now when one brother has detention, the others (who have visions of Oreo Blizzards swirling in their heads) rejoice and give each other high fives because ...  their brother has detention!


Brotherly love. There is nothing quite like it.


The only problem is that, according to the boys, there haven't been enough detentions. While all our boys seem to get their very first detention in either the 4th or 5th grade, after that there are definitely some lean periods in which everyone is behaving.


Oh, the horrors.


But then came yesterday's all school Mass and ... well, let me put it this way. As you know, our little guy is in the fifth grade, and today Jonathan and I are going to Dairy Queen.

Dear Sons, You're Welcome.

Dear Nicholas and Jonathan,


Dad and I have always taken your education very seriously, but in choosing to live in the south, (where you can be lulled into thinking that the weather is your best friend), you have not learned a fundamental truth on how to handle inclement weather. And since you both speak the language of mathematics, allow me to enlighten you with the following formula:

temperature in the teens + gale force wind = winter coat

Now, this is a subject I've brought up in the past, and each time you have vehemently declared that you do not need a coat. And so I've watched you get by on sweatshirts or hoodies, occasionally coupled with a windbreaker if a snowflake or two happens to fall.


As your mother, I realize that part of your coat denial stems from the fact that you do not like to shop. At all. I understand completely, so today I have taken matters into my own hands which I will now present in the form of a word problem:

If you can't take the boy to the store, take the store to the boy.

That's right. After a busy morning driving here and there, I have now brought the store to you. Right now there are SIX winter coats in varying styles and sizes spread out in the family room. Try them on. I know you will not need to use it very often, but it's nice to have just in case ... you know, for the occasional snowstorm, camping in January, hiking the Himalayas, or THANKSGIVING IN CHICAGO.


So, do your mom a favor, and just pick the one you hate the least.


You're welcome.


Love,
Mom

"Siri-ously" Confused PERIOD

You know how it goes with sisters. The more tired you are and the later it gets, the more things -- anything, really -- seems funny.


This past Saturday I accompanied my sister to Charleston, and after playing in a tennis tournament (her, not me), watching a tennis tournament (me, not her), driving downtown (and getting lost), walking around downtown (and getting lost), eating dinner at 82 Queen, standing outside in the cold for 30 minutes just to get inside Kominsky's for dessert (yes, we were that determined), and driving back to our hotel (and getting lost) ... we were exhausted.


Which meant anything could set us off at any moment.


Case in point: Siri. You know how you can dictate a text to Siri, and she will record your text and send it along? And you know how, in dictating the text, you also need to dictate the punctuation? Well, late at night my sister whips out her iPhone and has me listen to a voicemail that I had left her earlier in the week. Only ... when I left the voicemail I somehow thought I was dictating a text.


Here was my voicemail, preserved on her iPhone so she can laugh and bribe me into posterity:


Hi, Laura PERIOD Can you call me when you get a chance QUESTION MARK I need to run something by you about our trip to Italy PERIOD Love you EXCLAMATION POINT Talk to you soon EXCLAMATION POINT Bia


Of course, there was something hysterically funny about listening to that voicemail, dictated like a text, punctuation marks and all. And the fact that my voice sounded like Minnie Mouse ... well, the more we laughed the funnier it got.


But this morning reality came crashing down. Now that my sister isn't with me I am thinking more clearly, and I'm not laughing anymore. Laura still has that voicemail, and she'll probably keep it forever.


Yikes DOT DOT DOT not good COMMA not good at all PERIOD

Texting a voicemail QUESTION MARK
Been there COMMA done that PERIOD