Knock-Knock

Ellie just told a knock-knock joke. We believe it is a combination of a few knock-knock jokes:

Ellie: Knock, Knock
Pete: Who’s there?
Ellie: Cantaloupe.
Pete: Cantaloupe who?
Ellie: Cantaloupe in your bottom. My father’s got the ladder.

Looking for Girlfriends

“I hope I find some girlfriends after dinner.” Pete says this to me between bites of chicken and risotto. Frankly, it’s not something I thought I’d hear from my four year old son, but I’m used to it now. The past few weeks, Toby and Pete have been putting on jackets (not sport coats, mind you, just jackets – because everyone knows you need a jacket to catch a girlfriend) and setting off to wander Jones Lane searching for girlfriends. I really don’t know what possessed them to do this. It was Toby’s idea. They’re a bit secretive about it. I thought maybe Toby’s older sister put them up to it, but she knew nothing about it and neither did his parents. He has a much older half-sister in boarding school and she has a boyfriend. He seemed to come up with the idea after visiting her, so that’s the best I can surmise after considerable questioning of both boys.

After weeks of no luck, you’d think they’d give up on the whole thing. But each time they set out, Pete seems convinced this is the day when they’ll find one.

“Why do you want a girlfriend,” I’ll ask.

“I’m bored of Ellie. I need a girlfriend.” Hmmm.

“What about Lily Maeve or Axelle at school?”

“They don’t like me anymore.”

The irony is that Toby is pretty much dead set against anything to do with girls. Girls aren’t allowed in his clubhouse. He doesn’t like girl colors or girl movies. I have told Pete that being nice to girls is a good way to get a girlfriend. And he’s much more magnanimous about all things girly. Too much time spent with Kate, Sophie, and Ellie to be dead set against girls. He’ll often say that while he prefers green, he really likes all colors, even the girl ones. He’s not ashamed to watch girl movies – “Sleeping Beauty” has a dragon scene and Mary Poppins flies with her umbrella. Toby says with much derision, “You know that’s a movie for girls, Pete!” But Pete doesn’t seem to mind the derision. He’s a movie fan period – He loves “Star Wars” and “Cars” – but he’s not a snob. Girls are okay with Pete.

Anyway, here’s a photo of the budding Lotharios, out on a fruitless quest (if you ask me, but nobody does).

Ellie’s Costume

We had our dress rehearsal. Although nervous and overwhelmed by all the girls in costumes and lights, Ellie performed like a superstar. Paul took some pictures beforehand. She’s a cowgirl and they dance to “Boot Scoot Baby!” The look on her face in these comes close to the look I was talking about. Could she be more serious and pleased?

Turner?

So Sunday afternoon, I had my most embarrassing moment to date in Bermuda. I went to play doubles in a tournament at the Stadium courts in Hamilton. I checked in and the man there said, “Coolman? Is Turner Coolman your father?” and I said “No.” and then he went on about good old Turner Coolman’s knee operation – which sounded suspiciously like my father-in-law’s. Well, I later said my husband was Paul Coleman and that’s when I knew I’d made my mistake. This man had a heavy Bermudian accent and he’d been saying Tony Coleman. We tried to pass it off as a misunderstanding between Anthony and Tony Coleman – that must have been it – he’s Anthony to me – but he’s not. He’s Tony and stupidly I told this man I’d misheard him. That sank like a lead balloon. Almost like forgetting to say “Good Afternoon” and saying “Hello” instead.

I’ve lived here eight months now. When am I going to understand that accent?!

Ballet Recital

It’s been a year since Ellie attended Sophie’s and Kate’s ballet recital in Edmonds, Washington. “Mama, I want people to watch me do ballet!” she told me later. Ballet has become an obsession for Ellie. She wears her ballet outfits at every opportunity – even to bed, if I don’t feel like forcing her into pajamas.

“How’s the little ballerina?” people say to her.

Ellie was too young to take ballet class. Since September, she’s been in a Mommy and Me class that’s more movement and play oriented than ballet – but it’s as close as she gets to it. At the beginning of class we sing a little song, “She’s a little dancer and Ellie (name of kid) is her name!” after which she runs around the circle and back to her place. I wish I could adequately explain the serious look on Ellie’s face, when she rises from her seat – arms stretched out, pink tutu flying – and gracefully runs as fast as she can go around the other dancers. Other moms giggle and say she’s cute – because it’s such funny sight. This is not a serious class and no one takes it seriously except Ellie – so serious about her ballet.

When it came time to sign up for the recital, I had to do it. I wish I could have been reasonable and noted that she had years of recitals ahead of her. Why do it this year, when a parent has to accompany her on stage? That’s right, Ladies and Gentleman, I have to go on stage with her! It’s humiliating and I can’t believe I’m doing it. But if you saw her face during ballet, you’d know why I am.

Ellie and I have two performances at City Hall of all places – the big auditorium where the hold the Christmas Pantomime – May 10 and May 17. Rehearsals have been grueling – 8:00 in the morning the last two Saturdays. Here are the photos.

Tennis Up Close

This year was the 15^th anniversary of the Bermuda Open or rather the XL Bermuda Open, a challenger level ATP tournament. For those non-tennis fans, this means tennis professionals came to Bermuda for a clay court tournament. Challenger level means that it’s a tournament for those ranked outside the top 50 in the world. In other words, it’s the minor leagues. Players who normally only play a round or two or have to qualify for tier 1 ATP tourneys get to play longer and have a better chance of winning. What you may not realize, unless you follow tennis closely, players ranked 50-100 in the world are damned good. Tennis is so competitive that players can slip in the rankings easily. Challengers are fun because you have young kids trying to establish themselves and older (25-30 year olds) veterans trying to claw their way back up the rankings. Kei Nishikori, an 18 year-old from Japan that I guarantee you’ll hear more from, won the tournament in a third set tie-breaker over a 22 year-old Serbian with a big serve and bad attitude. Robby Ginepri, who just a couple years ago was ranked in the top 15, came to Bermuda only to be pummeled in the first round. Nicholas Massu, a double Olympic champion, lost to another up-and-coming kid from Latvia named Gulbis, who has a big serve and forehand. Gulbis lost in the quarters in three sets to the eventual champion Nishikori. His game doesn’t seem like it’s made for clay. I saw him play a lot of serve-and-volley – but I was impressed. It’s hard to say which of these kids will make it and which will suffer interminably in the minors. It’s such a small sliver of talent and desire that separate these guys. Donald Young, the 19 year old, who’s America’s only hope on the horizon, was also here, but lost early. Time will tell.

In any case, it was a big thrill, getting to watch tennis of this caliber so close up. The event is held at our tennis club, The Coral Beach and Tennis Club. One night I was recruited as a volunteer usher. It was a Tuesday night and a quiet one. Unfortunately, Bermudians stayed home until the weekend. During change-overs, I undid the chain of the bleachers, just in case anyone wanted to leave or come in. But mostly my job entailed watching the sliding, grunting and sweating from just a few feet away. Pretty awesome for a girl from Seattle, where professional tennis only visits for an occasional exhibition.

Serbian Finalist

Losing Semifinalist

Charge!

Wednesday morning I was supposed to play tennis at the South Hampton Princess at 8:30. I hustled the kids and Paul out of the house and rushed to get ready myself. A few weeks ago, there was a little brou-ha-ha with my tennis league, because I was late. Not really because I was late – but that was one factor. In any case, since then, I’ve been determined to be on time and yet something is always tripping me up – Paul’s out of town, Ellie throws a fit, Chris can’t carpool – it’s always something. I’m late girl. It’s awful. Well, this Wednesday I got into the car, turned the key, and nothing. Totally dead. Our car’s battery doesn’t hold a charge well at all and lately it’s been getting worse. We’ve had to jump it so often that we bought a little re-charger that you plug in and has two jumper cables attached.

I, however, have never used it myself. A mechanical idiot – I’m afraid I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers – or my dad – or my husband – or anyone but myself – to get me out of my car trouble. But I was determined. I called Paul on his cell phone and called him back again and again as I got detailed instructions on how to jump the car (including how to pop the hood!) And I was successful! I jumped the car myself! Luckily, for me the court reservation got mixed up and everyone had to go to Elbow Beach instead, which is closer to my house, so I wasn’t too late, actually. I wouldn’t have been late at all, but never having played there – it took me a while to find the courts.

My story’s not done. I played for 1 ½ hours and then had to go to a Pilates lesson, but I decided to go home to change first. The car started! Now for some back-story – the Pilates lessons were a Christmas present from Paul. They are very expensive here and they’ve only now been able to fit me in (4 month wait). If you don’t cancel 24 hours in advance, you still get charged. Anyway, I rushed home, changed clothes, slurped a smoothie I didn’t have time to drink for breakfast and headed out the door. Turned key and nothing. Car was dead. But I was determined. I would not miss that damned lesson! So I plugged in the little charger again – attached the cables and voila! – I jumped it again! This time, I threw my little charger and extension cord in the car and headed off. Well, the parking lot was full at the studio, so I went to the Botanical Gardens up the road and parked in the stall right next to the Ladies’ bathroom – which was open. I figured there’d be an outlet in there, if I needed it. I ran to the lesson –late, of course, – but I still got a good 40 minute workout in.

After the lesson ended at noon, I ran back to the Gardens, so that I could pick Ellie up on time at 12:30. Got in the car, turned the key – and you guessed it, nothing – dead. So I jumped that car – hustling into the Ladies’ room with my extension – third time in the morning. Success, of course. Well, I figured I’d better drive for a while to charge it up before picking up Ellie, so I headed out to the aquarium instead of into town – a detour that took an extra 15 minutes, I guess. By the time, I got back into town, it was 12:45, I decided to grab the first parking spot I could find which was on the opposite side of Church street from Ellie’s school. I ran in, got her, and hustled outside, turned the key – and nothing! Damn it! At least, I didn’t have to pick up Pete until three, but what to do? All electrical outlets were across the street. I decided to call Paul. We pushed the car across the street in a break from traffic – this time, he took the extension cord through the automatic doors of the government building to plug in our little recharger.

There must be a moral to this story – even mechanical idiots with enough motivation can become expert car jumpers? Or buy a new battery, dummy! Or no matter what she’s always late!

Well, we did buy a new battery. And the story of how we got it – is a typical Bermuda story for another day. (Hint – in spite of owning a popular model car – there weren’t any replacement batteries on the island. 2^nd hint – I have a handy husband).

Lots of Love

Since I stopped working, I’ve been carpooling with our neighbors. Monday and Wednesday, Toby’s Dad, Chris, takes the kids (Pete, Kaylee, and Toby) to Somersfield in the mornings. I do it Tuesday and Thursday and we switch Fridays. This means some mornings all I have to do is wake Pete up, make sure he’s fed, his teeth are brushed, he’s dressed, and is carrying his lunch as he walks out the door.

Paul and I were laughing the other day, that when we say good-bye to him in the morning, it seems like he’s much older.

“Good-bye, Pete! Have a nice day!” I call, as he walks out the door.

“Have a nice day, Mama! He’ll yell back, as he makes his way to Jones Lane.

It seems like he’s walking to school or going to catch the bus, when really he’s just walking next door to meet his carpool.

Today, Paul hadn’t left yet and also interjected into the good-bye scene.

“Bye, little man. I love you!”

“I love you too, Dada” Pete called.

Not wanting to be unfair, he added, “I love you, Mama!”

“Tell Ellie I love her, okay?” he yelled again – definitively giving away his age. I’m not sure that at eight, when he’s actually catching the bus that he’ll be desperate to make sure his little sister knows that he loves her.

Ag Show

Saturday, we attended the Ag Show. The Annual Agricultural Exhibition is a three day affair held at the Botanical Gardens, not far from Pete’s school. I was suffering from the first symptoms of what became a wretched flu. Weak and chilled with a mild headache, I wasn’t in the best state to take in this scene. Never having lived in an agricultural area, I was amazed by what I saw – enormous pig testicles and goats full of milk, not to mention prizes given for every imaginable animal and vegetable. Several different classes of pigeons were judged, in addition to the pigs, goats, rabbits, ducks, geese, and turkeys. Students won prizes for flower arrangements, model gardens, animals made from vegetables and many other amazements. I’m a city girl, for sure. Because honestly, who knew about any of this?

The Ag Show seemed funny to me, because it was a five minute drive from Hamilton – our metropolis. Bermuda is such a small country that country and city life are all mixed together.

The kids had a wonderful time, as you can imagine, which is why I went in my weakened condition. There was face painting and donuts, and we bought them each a necklace. Here are the pictures:

 

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Blind Date

I have a blind date today. Her name is Karen; she’s a teacher and has children of similar age to my own. We’re being set up by Sara Lang, the class mum from the classroom in which I substituted. Nate Lang, her son, won Bermuda’s National Spelling Bee, while I was teaching (I take zero credit for the win – another teacher coached him). It was big news here. He made the front page of the Royal Gazette and won a Disney Cruise. Anyway, Sara and I have become friendly and she thinks Karen and I will make a good match. It’s sweet of her – I was telling her that I hadn’t met too many people yet and didn’t have any real friends, so she’s intervened on my behalf.

It’s funny, moving to a new place at my age is like finding yourself newly single after a long marriage. It’s like dating and I’m out of practice. My inclination to dress up and flirt, if you will, is low. My feeling is, “Do I really have to go through that again?” And the answer is yes I do. When you start over in a new place, you need to do exactly that and I’m starting slowly. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be.