We went to visit my ailing-aging parents. My father describes himself as "shrimping" with age. He means "shrinking" but the curvature of his spine is so severe, and the three fingered hand . . . well. He's righter than he knows. My parents held themselves together for the entire visit: no falls, no disasters. It didn't rain once either. Both weather and good health were very suspicious.
Now we are back and I phoned last night from Baltimore to discover that my mother is in hospital. Mostly, it seems, she is there because she was about to have her first bowel movement in 18 days and my father, with the benefit of past experiences of her montezuma-like evacuations, decided he just wasn't able to deal with the mess that was about to come. So he called an ambulance, and now my mother is in hospital pooping.
2) Spanish Camp.
Voice and Smiles were looked after by a wonderful Argentinian woman at a home-run daycare when they were babies, and she spoke only Spanish to her charges. They were fluent at age 3.
At ages 7 and 9 they only know this phrase, "Hola ardilla caka", which I have implored them not to lead with this week, for this week they are at Spanish Camp, rediscovering immersion in Spanish. I wonder if they will miraculously remember all they have forgotten? Perhaps a door in their brain will open and verbs in complex tenses will pour out? From their faces when I left (tense, not conjugating tenses), I suspect not, but I am curious, hopeful nonetheless.
I ought to go visit their old daycare provider. She really was amazing. She cooked different lunches for six toddlers every day, catering to their whims while also providing delicious food. They always played outside in her nice little yard. They sang and read. I was so lucky to have found her.