The father is safely in residence at the Iowa Veterans Home, which is by all appearances and reports the nicest place. What a stroke of good luck that was, that it should be not only massively subsidized by the government but also a place you'd want to be. I'm afraid we went out to dinner last night to celebrate, which felt odd, considering that in some lights I did just institutionalize a member of my immediate family. But it's such a relief, and he seemed happy. I believe they'll take good care of him.
This morning I finally got to do yoga again, the beefcake dvd naturally, because if you're getting up at 5:30 a.m. to sweat the least you deserve is a little eye candy. I feel so much better. I'd forgotten how much it relaxes me. There may be a few more late-season triathlons, but I'm going to give myself a bit of a break to do whatever I want. There's also a long vacation to Japan and Australia in the works, so I can get a proper Japanese bath, eat amazing Japanese food three times a day (!), and then go back down under to the unique delights of Melbourne in winter and my absolutely lovely Aussie friends. I love Australia. How nice that it exists.
Bu is having issues with his child care provision. We took him out of preschool for July so that he could just play, go to the pool, ride his bike, roller blade, all that, and we hired a friend's 18-year-old daughter to watch him along with her 9-year-old sister, whom he loves. It seemed like the perfect arrangement, especially as he was showing a distinct lack of keenness for preschool. I think what we really accomplished is to teach him that his daily activities are infinitely mutable, and if we wanted we could probably arrange for him to play with his best friend Martin every day. Now he's holding out for that, creating a huge drama every day when I leave him. It's absurd - he plays and has a marvelous time all day long according to everyone who interacts with him (and that's lots of people), but he still tries to drive Mama and Papa into frenzies of guilt at drop-off time. Children. Can't live with 'em, can't rely on wolves to teach them phonics.
2 comments:
Glad to hear about your Dad, must be a relief.
On kids and wolves: my platonic date and I for the St John's ball decided they'd never let us in to the ball if they suspected we weren't a real couple. We invented a fake child called "Bubu" and argued over who had left him to be raised by wolves.
It was a looooong line.
It would really depend on the wolf pack, now wouldn't it? That Mowgli fellow turned out fine.
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