Golazo

While we were in France we brought back soccer balls for souvenirs, and additionally, for Tovi, a French jersey, bearing the number 10 on the back. Tovi was born in 2010, which makes the number on the jersey fitting in itself. But to add to the coolness factor, 10 was also the number worn by Zinedine Zidane, the French player who made the infamous headbutt of World Cup 2006, which was, incidentally, the first World Cup I ever followed. I empathised with the Frenchman, after all the Italians that year were insufferable, melodramatic pansies, and Zinedine even made our list of name contenders as we narrowed down our name choices for our firstborn son. But neither the name Zinedine nor a French trophy were meant to be, and here we are 8 years later, directing our disgust this time towards the drama queens of this year and towards the American team for their lack of joy in the game, and their apparent indifference to the national anthem, which every other country sings with passion and gusto. 

The World Cup fever has caught on with the kids. When Dominic wakes up, he pulls on his cleats from his soccer league days (two years ago)- so tight he can't even get his feet in with socks on. He wants to watch the games with facepaint. Noemie screams at the TV, "Nice pass!" What does she know about passing? Even Gigi sticks around, taking advantage of our distraction to grab fruits from the counter behind the couch. We caught her the other day injesting a mango with the peel still on. Danny and I pre-record most games and try to cram them in, on into the wee hours of the morning, while I crochet a rag-rug for the girls' room. Who needs sleep? I love the World Cup and I hate it at the same time.

We closed on our house last week, and my daylight hours, ever since, have been consumed with painting. Painting furniture, painting walls, and thinking about paint... paint methods, paint finishes, paint fumes, brush strokes, color theories. I dream paint. And dust. We decided to replace the floors and the demolition of the old ceramic tile has left a nice layer of powder on the walls of my trachea. Any second not devoted to the new house is spent trying to catch up with the kids' schooling (those two months in DC really put us behind and I can't teach the fall of Rome next year if I don't cover Ancient Rome this year!), while simulatenously writing and printing my materials for next year, pre-reading living history books on St. Francis, Beowulf, viking adventures, enchanted castles, orphaned minstrels, and medieval bone-setters. We ordered our storage a week ago. It's expected to arrive next Tuesday, with tile installation in progress. On today's itinerary... Mowing the lawn, replacing broken socket plates, changing the air filter, coating the girls' dresser with enamel, finishing a wall patch in the master closet, wiping down the ceiling fan blades (amen Michael Lopez?), painting the second half of the Master bedroom (thank you, Tia), replacing lights in the kids bath, a birthday party, a memorial service... And so on. One thing's for sure, when I finally do get to sleep these days, I go down hard!