this is a page for

Browsing Tag: Clifford

One for the History Books

A few weeks ago, our local parents magazine started advertising their annual Family Fun Festival (go ahead, say that three times quickly).  The shindig itself was free, but way at the bottom of the ad, I saw that there was an option to buy tickets to a character breakfast with–wait for it–Clifford (the big red dog?!) and Curious George.  It was like Saoirse’s fairy godmother was personally waving a red flag at me, shouting, “Hellooooo, lady, look at the sheer joy we have concocted for the sole pleasure of your young daughter!”  I did a happy dance, took out our much-abused bank card and bought us a little spot of happiness.  David calmly said, “Oh, that sounds cool.  Saoirse will love it.”  Saoirse saw the ad lying on a table where I had cut it out, grabbed it, and carried it around with her for five days. So, Saturday, we–I, David, and the mighty Quinlan, of course–took Saoirse to meet her hero.  I was a basket of nerves, because she’d been talking about meeting Clifford–you know, bigger-than-a-house Clifford…

The Greatest Guilt Trip On Earth

Before I had kids, I had have a list of things I swore up and down I’d never do.  Some of these things include, but are not limited to, the following: Drive a family vehicle. We all know that four-wheel drive ship sailed long ago. Let my children watch too much TV. That, I’ve been pretty good about. Go to a circus. I hate the circus. I mean, when I was seven it was pretty swell, especially when my brother and I got to ride an elephant before the show began. I can still describe to you the feeling of being so high up in the air, and my surprise at the coarseness of the animal’s hair.  I also remember wanting the animal to hurryupandgofaster, which could very well have been the basis for my habit of collecting speeding tickets as an adult.  Ahem. But as an worldly adult with a conscience and a heart of the bleeding variety?   No way, man.   It was always one of those givens for me, kind of like, I’m never going to knowingly eat a cricket, or agree to jump out of an airplane without…

It Happens Overnight

Our Quinn’s never been much of a mover. She took forever to roll over, and I think she only did it twice, as if to say, “See? I can do it! Now stop worrying and leave me alone, why dontcha?” She didn’t move from lying down to sitting up at all, and if placed on her stomach, she’d wail out in despair with a facial expression that made it seem like we’d just told her she’ll be paying for college herself. Only recently did she master this sort of half-body scoot-crawl, which basically consisted of dragging herself around by her arms while her legs sort of stayed bent in place (this girl’s got the best biceps of anybody on the playground). Her pediatrician had mentioned that since Quinn is a bigger baby (twenty-four and a half pounds of puuuure adorableness, people!), she was more likely to take her time meeting her physical milestones. This was okay with me. If she were our first baby, I’d have been freaking out, convinced that she’d be in a crib till she was…