Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant

How have three weeks passed since our last full-fledged post? Perhaps if our posts were a little less full, or a little less fledged, the prospect of writing a new one would be less daunting, and my native truant disposition less likely to shun the task and leave large gaps in the historical record. No matter. On we go.

Yesterday Julia and I were up before everyone else—or rather, she and I were up while everyone else had gone back to bed (it was an eventful night). We were reading “Superdog: The Birth of a Hero,” an illustrated tale about a stumpy-legged runt of a canine—one Dex—who dreams of becoming a superhero. In preparation for heroic exploits, Dex submits himself to a strenuous regimen of physical exercise. One night, an exhausted Dex looks into the mirror and notices the unmistakable emergence of muscles all over his doggish physique. He then buys a hero suit, engages in various acts of charity and chivalry, silences his former detractors, and performs a climactic act of hardihood by saving a fat cat (literally) who once mocked Dex but finally begs to become his sidekick. Such a triumph of the canine spirit inspired me—at least the part about Dex's exercise, and the resultant muscles.

“Julia,” I asked, “would you like to go for a jog?” She answered excitedly that she would; she even strapped herself into the jogging stroller. I pulled out my jogging shoes—still caked with the muddy reminders of a Boy Scout leaf raking project . . . last November.

We were off. “Whee!” Julia cried, as we began to coast along. Thereafter, however, Julia did not so much throw caution to the wind as call caution into the wind: “Be careful, Daddy!” “Don’t run into the road!” “Slow down for the bumps!” At length, the cautions became murmurs: “Daddy, I’m kind of getting tired.” “Daddy, I think my blanket might be dragging on the wheels and it’s going to get dirty.” “Daddy, I probably shouldn’t be out here without a coat. And when I haven’t had breakfast yet. And when it’s a little bit windy. And when I’m sick.” Finally: “Daddy, I think we should go home.” And so, after three or four minutes, and about as many hundred meters, we turned back, exhausted but exhilarated—bloodied but unbowed. A sidewise glance at the mirror indicated that the anticipated muscles are on their rapid way.

Later in the morning we went to the “Peacock Park” where Julia and I threw sticks in the pond—my efforts at skipping stones only elicited the knowing observation that Josh Hustedt can make a stone skip seven times—while Eli courted the Shetland ponies, in stentorian tones, with the phantom promise of sugar cubes (with which Belle wins the favor of a “wild” pony in the literary classic, “A Pony for a Princess”). We then gathered in the field where the girls—including, against her will, Lia—took turns being spun around by me. Katharine, feeling neglected, reasserted her claim to the center of attention with a modest blowout. So we returned to the van, cleansed the noisome maiden, and went to Wentworth’s for some ice cream.

Earlier in the week we attended a flurry of birthday parties—first, the first birthday of Carter Cheney and, later the same evening, the thirtieth birthday of Angelina Durazzo. On Thursday, we learned that I’d been awarded some funding for intensive language study in Germany this summer. Collings Family Adventures will blog from Frankfurt this July and August. Thereafter, all posts will be in German. Just kidding.

In other news: Lia continues her sugar-free, Tae-bo-abundant duel with Whitney Pope (by mutual collusion, they took a break from the sugar-free business for Easter and for Angelina Durazzo’s birthday party). Taking a cue from the disciplined, health-conscious spirit of sacrifice displayed by our wives, Brady and I have decided to swear off shopping for the rest of our lives and agreed to exercise our eye muscles rigorously by moving them from left to right and top to bottom over long sequences of printed pages for several hours a day. It’s hard work, but I believe my recompense will come the next time I sport a bathing suit.

I’m happy to report that yesterday featured the first 70+ degree weather of the year. Meanwhile, balmy Provo, Utah was bombarded with a tremendous snow storm that shattered tree branches all around the town.

A few minutes ago, while consoling Julia who had theretofore been throwing a royal tantrum, I cooed in her ear, “Sweet Princess Julia, where will we ever find a prince good enough for you?” “I can find one myself,” she answered drily.