Parental leave

These weeks of staying at home with Karin and Samuel have been among the happiest of my life. I’ve been able to watch plenty of TV – quality TV, like Midsomer Murders. And on my birthday, we viewed Whit Stillman’s Metropolitan, which delighted Karin.

We’ve also been eating handsomely. Our church created a “meal train” for us. The congregants have been taking turns bringing dinner.

Samuel has been eating better, too. His tongue tether was clipped by a doctor of the ear, nose, and throat. Now it’s easier for Samuel to latch on to the breast.

(On a wall in the doctor’s office was a satellite photo of San Francisco, California. “That’s how San Francisco looks?” asked Karin. That night, I showed her Dirty Harry.)

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We visited the public library in Mishawaka so that Karin’s former colleagues could admire our son. Browsing the stacks, I found a book that, many weeks ago, I’d asked South Bend’s librarians to procure via InterLibrary Loan (they never did). I was miffed to learn that the book hadn’t been far away – the two libraries are just minutes from one another. Perhaps the blood between them is poor.

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Having narrowly lost to Italy, Ecuador is out of the World Cup. It was interesting to watch the sixteen-year-olds: so talented, so boneheaded.

Earlier today, Karin & I viewed the first half of Mary Poppins. We turned Samuel toward the TV. It’d be nice if he would remember Mary Poppins as his first movie.

I hadn’t seen Mary Poppins for many years. It was startling how young, how fresh-faced, Julie Andrews looked. Karin did some research and learned that Julie Andrews was twenty-nine when the movie was released. I’m nine years older than Mary Poppins.

I’d always been impressed by her sternness. Now, she looks not long out of university.

(Give Bert a chance, Mary Poppins. Give Bert a chance.)