Yesterday the Sober Husband came to me with a grave, drawn expression. "Steve Jobs just resigned," he said in tragic tones.
I understood his angst. The man is a diehard Apple enthusiast, an early adapter to each new fabulous iProduct to come along. "Who will make our next thing?" I said sadly to him. "We had iPod, iPad, and iPhone, but will we ever get a new iThing to love?" We took a moment to honor Steve Jobs's contributions to the world.
At roughly the same time the Sober Husband came in with his somber news, a number of friends of mine had turned to Facebook to express their feelings about Steve Jobs. But that was nothing compared to the newspaper this morning. The Chronicle treated Jobs's retirement as though it were Armageddon. Virtually the entire front page was given over to it, with huge headlines and giant fonts that reminded me a lot of the Pearl Harbor Chronicle front page which hangs on the wall down at my favorite bar. "Look," I said to the Sober Husband. "It's World War III! It's the apocalypse! It's a zombie war! Steve Jobs is stepping down!"
People, how will we survive??
Iris and Lola's bright spirits remain undaunted (although they are so devoted to their iPad, which is known in the household as "Mr. Pad", that they should be mourning). Yesterday we went to the Santa Cruz boardwalk in honor of Iris's birthday, and they rode together in harmony on a variety of nausea-inducing rides. Only the Ferris wheel broke up what was, until then, a day of unprecedented sibling harmony. Iris was upset that Lola had rocked their car. "I didn't mind being stuck up high," she said, "Until Lola was rocking it! She kept rocking it, which is forbidden, and she said, 'I am a bachelor and this is my pad!'"
She got little parental support. "Iris," I said, "What part of, 'Lola is a bachelor, and that is her pad' do you not understand?"
Iris took the point well. She did see the humor in Lola's phrasing. Or maybe she was just in a good mood from getting presents and being taken to Santa Cruz. The day before she'd been quite impatient with little Lola. I give you, without comment, a verbatim partial transcript of a conversation that went on for what felt like to me, the only grownup in the house at the time, many long hours:
Eight year-old Lola: "That is so demented!"
Iris: "Stop using the word 'demented'! You keep saying everything is demented! It gets old!"
'That is a perfectly good word! The government uses it all the time!"
"The government does not call things demented!"
"Yes, it does! All the time!" Lola then listed a variety of things which allegedly the U.S. government has denounced as "demented."
A short silence followed, broken by Lola saying to herself, "No way! No fucking way!"
Iris: "Stop saying that! You're not supposed to say that! Momdude, did you hear what Lola said?"
Lola (with especial relish): "No fucking way! No fucking way!"
I love your kids. Please tell me you're working on some version of "Shit My Kids Say". Is there anything better than an awesome child? I mean seriously, I don't worry for our future so much with kids like these. One evening we were all driving somewhere and my 3 (8, 9 and 11 currently) were in the back arguing over whether The Beatles are better than Tool. I turned to my husband and said "We're so fucking rocking this parenting thing!"
You are, too!!
Post a Comment