The unqualified highlight of the week was Julia’s “Spring Recital” for ballet. The theme was “Around the World in Eighty Minutes,” with each class performing a number somehow related to some foreign country or other. For some reason, fourteen or so of the thirty-seven or so numbers had French themes. Julia’s troop—which were fortunately the second group to recite—performed the “South Korea” number, though their routine had nothing obvious to do with that country, so unfortunate in its neighbors. What their performance did have to do with was cuteness, which they featured in abundance. Julia was the cutest of all—Julia first, with no one second. She had her hair drawn tightly in a bun, with copious quantities of hairspray preempting the wanderlust of locks tempted to stray. Her gang wore lavender leotards and tiny, pinkish ballet skirts (not tutus, Lia knowingly corrected me). Julia’s group is young enough that they might have run absolutely wild in the absence of their instructor, so “Ms. Aliza” did the routine right along with them. Julia kept her eyes steadfastly riveted on Ms. Aliza, mimicking her every move. She was the very portrait of innocence and submission, meekness and childlike grace. One wondered what had happened to one’s daughter. Of such, in any case, is the kingdom of heaven.

From the galleries, Eli lapped this all up—at least for ten minutes or so. I soldiered on, forcing a smile even through the Frenchie squad that danced awkwardly while the speakers blasted the immortal terpsichorean ditty “Frere Jacques.” When I—I mean, when Eli—could take no more, we bailed. Eli, Katharine and I walked home while Lia stayed for the rest of the show. When the show ended, Lia gave Julia a bouquet of flowers. Julia, suffused with happiness, gripped the flowers’ stems with prehensile ferocity, and held the bouquet before her like the Olympian torch.

When she noticed that one of her peers didn’t have a bouquet, she became deeply concerned (thankfully, the diminutive dancer’s family soon appeared, showering her with no fewer than three bouquets). Julia’s flowers now rest in a vase atop the piano. Julia and Eli both pause to gaze at them in admiration several times a day—the former proudly; the latter longingly. It was, for Julia, a triumphant theatrical debut—in no less a venue than the Schubert Theater

(New Haven’s largest)—harbinger, no doubt, of greater things to come. Like soccer.

Earlier in the week I had the privilege of helping a family move that I hardly know. They were our neighbors for the past year, so I perhaps should have known them, but I didn’t. Thankfully, however, Brady Pope—whose congenital affinity for the lifting of heavy objects has been remarked on in previous posts—did know them, and helpfully offered them the assistance of the New Haven First Ward Elders Quorum Moving Crew (TNHFWEQMC) for their cross town move this past Monday morning. Brady, it transpired, was in Utah for a friend’s wedding, and I, it further transpired, was the only representative of TNHFWEQMC that made it out for the move. I was grateful to Brady for this opportunity. As a token of my gratitude, I sent the following message to the Law School and Graduate School list-serves:

“Moving? Can’t afford movers? No problem! Have an upright piano, or a grand to boot? Great! Just contact Quality Movers Gratis (QMG) at brady.pope@yale.edu. We love to lift heavy stuff; please let us lift yours.”

Katharine had her six month check-up this week. She weighed in at a robust 19 lbs. 4 oz., and we are happy to report that her head, though it still measures off the charts, is now closer to the charts than it used to be. Intangibles are hard to measure, but it seems clear that Katharine is also the unchallenged cutest baby on the planet.

Eli woke up early this morning, threw on a tiara, plopped herself in front of Julia’s flowers, and gazed at them, enraptured. “What are you doing, Eli?” asked Lia. “I’m having a wedding,” she answered, excited by her hymeneal procession but irked by her mother’s superfluous question. What else would one do with a tiara and a vase on a Sabbath morning?

What indeed.