Wit and whimsy at the Lawrenceville School

Yesterday, we went to Lawrenceville for Andrew’s interview — the whole family decided to go along to provide moral support for the Pudster, and we took the tour all together.

The kids were under strict instructions to be quiet and polite to one another while we went in for the parental meeting, post-interview.  We had a very nice talk with the assistant dean of admissions, who seemed to like Andrew.

When we emerged from the office, the children were sitting, as per previous instructions, in the waiting room.  It wasn’t until we were out of the Admissions Office and walking to the car, that it came to light, that while we were away,  Joey and Andrew had managed to chase each other all around the waiting room over some perceived slight or insult.  Which, they accomplished silently, according to them.

Nice, huh?

Why more parents don’t end up killing their young before maturation, is a mystery to me.

Killing time with dorky family photos, since we were early.

Anyway.

This is the first time I’d been on the Lawrenceville tour (George took Joey in the fall, last year, and I didn’t go along) and it was a great experience to get a glimpse of what Joey’s life, beginning in the fall is going to be like.

While on the tour, our tour guide, a rising senior named Jess, took us to the dining hall.  As we walked into the foyer, we came across this:

Someone has a lethal sense of humor

In case you can’t see, the thought bubble says, “Food for thought??”

And, that’s a cup of coffee in the outline’s outstretched hand.

All I can say is, I’m glad to see that Joey will be amongst his own kind, at his new school.

Based on this, I think he’s going to fit right in.

Joey’s take on a fashion ‘don’t

Joey doesn’t log onto the blog frequently, but when he does, he goes through the whole backlog of what he missed.

Hence, this afternoon, he was reading up on the posts and came upon the entry about the rainbow eyesore dress.  Lying on the sofa, he began chuckling and turned toward me.

“This dress should come with a warning — ‘Epileptics, beware.  May cause seizures.”

He added, “I don’t even have epilepsy, and I can feel a convulsion coming on.”

Migraine sufferers should probably also abstain.

 

 

So… what are we shopping for again?

A few years ago, a Babies R Us opened near my in-laws’ home here in Princeton Junction.  This didn’t happen, as luck would have it, until after my kids were far too old to benefit from their presence.   I’m sure, though, that our bank account was grateful.

This summer, I definitely feel the impact of the faltering US economy.  Roads seem in disrepair, grocery stores feel a bit shabbier — it just feels like people are less assiduous about upkeep and maintenance.

It was more of the same this evening, as we drove past the Babies R Us.  The ‘i’ in their neon sign was unlit.

Joey said, “Hey, now it’s ‘Babes R Us’!

Babes R Us.

(The photo doesn’t actually do the sign justice  — the lighting is far more effective in real life to make it really look like ‘Babes’. )

Well, it’s one way, I guess, to get your husband to go shopping.

Happy Father’s Day!

Because it was also Justin’s first birthday (Happy birthday, Justin!  Can’t believe you’re one!) Valerie and Tommy hosted Family Day at their apartment this evening.

Earlier this week, Val had asked Sarah and me to forward photos of John and George to her — we had no idea what for, but hey, why not?

After dinner, we found out why.  Because the dads are such great role models, we think everyone should ‘Be Like Dad’.

So funny.

Uncle John...

 

Now, everyone be like Uncle Tommy. Actually, Nobu is being like Uncle George.

 

Happy father's day, Dad! Note, Joey only present in spirit. And mask.

As we were taking the photos, Sam looked over at me behind my mask and said, “Mom, you don’t have to smile.  No one can see your face!”

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there!

Math geek… NOT

So, on Thursday, I got a voicemail from Joey’s math teacher, telling me that she had something she needed to discuss with me and to please call her back.  She sounded serious.

Now, this is not a message that is welcomed, two days before school lets out for the summer.  I had nightmare visions of a courtesy warning that Joey was going to fail math.

I called her back but she was not available.  I left a message telling her to please call me back at any time of her convenience.

Worried and upset and feeling the need to go on the rampage, I immediately dialed Joey’s phone with my left hand while steering the car with my right.  To my surprise, he picked up.

“Joey, I received a message from Ms. Melling that she needed to speak with me.  Any idea what that might be about?”

“Yes, Mom.  Don’t worry, that problem has been resolved.”

Me:  “Problem???  What problem?  Why should there be a problem two days before the end of school?”

Joey:  “Uhh, well.  I sort of didn’t take the Math Semester Exam too seriously.  But, don’t worry, I’ve re-taken the test. ”

Can you IMAGINE what was going through my head at that moment?  I went ballistic.  Or, should I say, italic:

“What!?  What do you mean you didn’t take it seriously?  How can you take an exam and not take it seriously?  Why would you do something stupid like that?”

Joey:  “Mom, the semester exam didn’t count toward my grade at all.  It’s only to check on our progress.  And, I’m leaving for prep school.   It didn’t matter at all for me.”

Me:  “I don’t care if it didn’t matter!  You always take exams seriously!  Always!  What is wrong with you?  You ALWAYS take exams seriously!”

I probably went on for several more seconds along that vein — to Joey, on the other end of the line, it probably sounded like, “Blah, blah, blaah, blah, blah-blah-blah.  Blah!”

Anyway, I didn’t hear back from Ms. Melling.  The next morning, I was scheduled to meet Nancy for breakfast.  (As previous blog indicates.)

So, between gawking at women in unfortunate dresses and snarfing on omelettes and french toast, I mentioned that I’d received this mysterious call from Ms. Melling the afternoon before.

Nancy started guffawing.  “I know why she called.  Do you know why she called?”

After a quick accounting of the message from Ms. Melling and the subsequent cryptic phone conversation with Mr. ‘Small-problem-it’s-been-resolved’ Koo, Nancy was still grinning widely.

“Everyone else knows what happened.  Except you, apparently.”

I glared at her.  She finally relented.

“Apparently, Joey didn’t take the test.  Or, didn’t answer all the questions.  Instead, he wrote an essay thanking all his math teachers and telling them what he had enjoyed about math.  Isn’t that sweet?  I think it’s wonderful.  I bet Bruna Melling had no idea what to do with him when she saw his test paper.”

I leaned back into my chair, gobsmacked.  In my wildest imagination, at my most creatively inspired moment, I could not have come up with this concept.   Joey writing a thank-you note.

Without a gun held to his head.

In the immortal words of ‘The Princess Bride’, “Incontheivable!”

‘Joey’ and ‘thank-you note’ are not even concepts that have previously inhabited the same universe.

Although, I suppose, if it was to get out of doing math, it was within the realm of possibilities.

When I saw Joey at home, I asked him.  “Hey, I heard that you wrote a thank-you essay to your teachers, rather than taking the test.  Is that true?”

Joey looked at me, startled.  “Who told you that?  Auntie Nancy?”

Me:  “Duh.  Is it true?  What happened?”

Joey:  “Well, when I took the exam, I wrote joke answers to all the questions.”

Great.  Smart ass.  I interrupted him.  “Wait, so what kind of joke answers did you write down?”

Joey:  “Well, one that I remember is — ‘A four-sided pyramid has 8 edges, all measuring 20 cm.  What is the height of the pyramid?’

“And I answered, ‘Ask an Egyptian.'”

I groaned.  And accompanied that with a head slap.  (My own. )

Joey:   “And then,  yes, I guess I essentially wrote an essay thanking all the math teachers who ever taught me in Secondary.  They’re still all in the Math Department.

“Ms. Throne, Mr. King, Ms. Melling, Mr. Tsang — on my math paper I wrote a letter to each one telling them everything that I appreciated about them, and thanking them for teaching me these years.”

Good grief.  What do you do with a kid like that?

Do I kill him or hug him?

Fiesta time!

All she needs is the fruit salad hat...

Nancy and I were sitting at Le Gouter, not minding our own business, when this walked by.  From the front, it was blinding.  There was no pale yellow sweater to cut the vicious assault of colors marching down the length of her body.

I felt a sudden burning need for a shot of tequila and a slice of lime.

Cue the nightmare mariachi band, intent on surrounding your table and crooning romantic love songs while you attempt to explain to your date that no really, it’s not you, it’s him.

Powerful enough to induce a psychotic episode, that dress.

But, I digress.

Doesn’t she also remind you of a tube of toxic LifeSavers?

We stared, open-mouthed as she sauntered past — a lurid beacon of garishness in the sea of corporate boringness that is the crowd at IFC mall — I was half-horrified, half arrested by fascination at the thought that we have clearly been overlooking a source of energy.  Who needs windmills, or, for that matter, coal-fired generators, when we can probably harvest the gamma rays emanating from that dress?

We may be risking radiation poisoning, but them’s the costs.

(And yes, at Nancy’s urgent advocacy for the blog — she actually mouthed the message “BLOG — GO!  when post-gape, I turned to her and said, ‘Fiesta Time!'” — I unearthed my camera from the depths of my tote bag and flew like a bat out of hell after this hapless woman.

So much for dignity.)

Playing favorites

Samantha asked me to put her to bed tonight — and thus, I found myself lying in her bed reading Tina Fey’s book, ‘Bossypants’ (funny, highly recommended) while waiting for her to nod off.  It was taking a long time, but finally, it looked like she was more or less asleep, and very cute for being so, so I put my book down, leaned over and kissed her.

Her eyes opened sleepily.  “Why are you kissing me?  You’re not going to leave before I fall asleep, are you?”

Me:  “Well, can I?”

Sam:  “No, Mama.  Stay with me.  But you can go get your iPhone, if you want.  This might take a while.”

Samantha is the only one of my children who calls me “Mama”.  Ever since she was a little baby, she’d call me ‘Mama’, rather than ‘Mommy’, although now, I think, I get both.   I don’t even know where she learned it, as historically, no one in our family uses the term.

Me:  “No, that’s okay.  I have my book.”

I leaned in to kiss her again.  Warm, sleepy children are irresistible that way.  “You’re my favorite daughter,” I say.

I love to say this.  Of course, I can’t say this to my boys.  Not just because they’re not daughters, but also, because there are two of them.  Anyway, I say it a lot because I’m puerile and my sense of humor is underdeveloped, and I think it’s funny, even after the hundredth delivery.

Samantha has her stock response to this, which, in typical, pre-teen fashion is delivered in an exasperated tone.  “I’m your ONLY daughter, Mom.”

I waited for it.  It’s part of our whole mother-daughter shtick.

Instead, her eyelids fluttered closed again, and she snuggled her warm body closer to me, and hugged me close.

“I love you, too, Mommy.”

My favorite daughter.

Bali photo post

The Four Seasons was lovely, as you’d expect — it was gorgeously situated on Jimbaran Bay, the architecture was consistent with the cultural legacy of the area and polished in the way all luxury resorts are,  and the landscaping and scenery were breathtaking.  But, in this day and age, we’ve all seen gorgeous photographs of fabulous resorts taken by professional photographers way more proficient and talented than I am.

So, I won’t be posting any of those types of photos.  Anyway — here’s a selection of pictures I took while we were down there — some of them may be a little quirky, and some of them may make you go ‘huh?’ but these are the ones I like most.  I hope you enjoy them.

The landscaping of the resort is beautifully done, with little reflecting pools dotted throughout. Here, I like how the water shows both what's above and below its surface.

In Bali, they have a lovely practice of imprinting the cement slabs with which they make their walkways and sidewalks, with greenery -- and so, as you walk along, you are greeted by beautiful images of leaves. This was a particularly deep and graceful impression.

Our first morning, this little guy stopped by our table to say 'hi'. And stayed a while.

Some of the best moments of childhood are ones like this.

Gorgeous sunset, as seen from the hip and happening upper deck bar of the cleverly named Ku De Ta.

I've always liked cane-backed chairs.

The reflection of our villa's pool, as filtered through the slatted shades of the window and projected onto the mosquito netting above the bed one morning.

I like the photograph from behind, rather than in front. I must be perverse.

love old stuff

Dreamy

I just think this looks cool.

The shots of light look sort of like lightning.

I don't know why, I just do.

Lazy moments, playing with the camera.

The pattern on the brass disk that held our mosquito nettting aloft -- if you enlarge the photo (click twice) it almost looks like circular seersucker.

Shadows -- and the water faucets of our outdoor shower.

I passed over this shot the first few times I looked through the Bali photos -- but, the more I look at it, the more I like it.

Balinese charmers

When we arrived at the lovely Four Seasons, Bali, in beautiful Jimbaran Bay, we were greeted warmly by the staff, ushered to some comfy sofas in front of a stunning ocean view to check in, and welcomed with a cool, cleansing towel and a tall tropical drink of some exotic fruit.

As George was fiddling with paperwork and signing stuff, I saw two little girls off to the side on a little woven grass mat, doing what looked like some handiwork.  They were very cute, so I wandered off to see what they were doing.

As I raised my camera to take their photo, they noticed me, and immediately and professionally assumed the traditional Balinese greeting pose.

So sweet.

Upon closer inspection, they were assembling little floral offerings for newly arrived guests.  After I wandered back to George to have a sip of my tall, cool drink, they came up to us and presented me with a little cone of flowers and George with a more masculine baton of woven grass.

They were very charming and seemed a little shy as they moved about the lobby, presenting additional blooms to other guests.  If they sensed you looking at them, an embarrassed smile would come across their faces.   The older one looked no older than 10, but was graceful and composed, while the little one still sported a lively, mischievous expression and the round little baby tummy of a 7 or 8-year-old.

George must have been missing his daughter, because he said, ‘They remind me of Samantha.  Can’t you see her getting all fidgety and shy if she had to do this and you smiled at her?”

a more candid shot

A couple days later, as we were leaving, just after lunch, George noticed that the little girls were not in the lobby.   When he asked about them, he was told that they don’t show up until 4 pm, after school.

Apparently, it’s a program that the Four Seasons has with a nearby school — the school asks for volunteers, usually between the ages of 8 and 12 to come and work for a couple hours after school, to make and present the little floral gifts.  While George got the impression they don’t get paid, they get a chance to gain some work experience and to practice their English.

The whole idea of it as a little volunteer program to come and practice English and gain work experience — it’s charming and yet also, puts the little girls in such a real context.  Can’t you just see them, sitting neatly in their classrooms, an entire world away from the Four Seasons, giggling over secrets with their friends at lunch time, then changing into their Balinese costumes to charm us tourists, and rushing home afterwards to help prepare dinner and finish their homework.

Somehow, it makes them very real.

Addendum to the ‘fashion don’t’

A couple people have written in, saying, ‘hey, at least they’re not wearing matching shoes, and pink caps.

Here’s what I think — I think, if you’re going to deliberately set out to look like a fool, then, by God, commit to it!

As far as I’m concerned, the only thing that could earn a modicum of respect for that couple’s sartorial idiocy is if they went balls out — I mean, him in another pink cap and her in a matching pair of dark blue Crocs.   Even better if they had matching travel and hair accessories.

Looking stupid only works if you treat it like an extreme sport and push it to the ultimate, outer limits of what’s possible.

That’s guts.