Missing Mor

I had hoped to post this blog before Trine left Chelmsford, so that she’d have a chance to get some virtual Mollicoddling before she boarded the jet back home. I have probably failed.

Trine left on Wednesday, mid-afternoon, while Molli Malou was still at vuggestue. Thursday was Molli Malou’s “school picture day” at vuggestue, so you can all giggle at the notion of me being responsible for Molli’s wardrobe. You won’t be disappointed by the outfit.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Greg, you idiot, how color blind are yoù? The classic red dress is lovely, the blue stockings are all right, but what on earth persuaded you to jam those hot pink cowboy boots onto the ensemble?”

The thing is, I didn’t. I was thinking red shoes. But she realized she was being dressed up and I kept telling her how pretty she was going to be and she suddenly decided she had to have the pink boots, and I just didn’t have the luxury of time to fight that battle.

Two grounds for optimism, though: first, they change into slippers as soon as they’re inside anyway, so she may not have had had them on for the picture. Secondly, the other kids looked so damn scraggly that I’m thinking I must have had the wrong Thursday.

So there’s hope.

Not long after molli Malou’s birth, I shared my anxieties about raising a daughter with a very close friend who had a girl of his own. He said to me, tongue half in cheek, that “I’ll feel I’ve done my job as long as she doesn’t grow up into a junkie, a stripper, or a Democrat.”

I think we can steer Molli clear of hard drugs, and I don’t mind about her politics one way or the other, but she seems creepily oriented toward a future as a stripper.

Yes, the picture’s from the night of the “school pictures” that may or may not have been taken. She was in love with the boots and, with an eye toward color coordination, insisted on wearing her hat with them.

You have to admit, the hat’s a winner.

But is this or is this not a Playboy wardrobe and pose?

We’re going to have to keep an eye on that.

I wanted to cook Molli Malou wonderful meals while Mor was away, but by the time I was ready to start cooking Thursday night it was already past her normal dinner time. So I punted.

She ate about three-quarters of a single-serving pizza, then complained all night about her tummy. She also made about fifteen uses of her potty, returning her pizza back to me on the installment plan.

Thinking of Trine’s aching maternal heart, I took a couple of pictures Friday night of Molli Malou fresh from her bath and getting ready for bed. It’s too late to comfort Trine with them, but they’re worth remembering.

She’s drowsy and dappled…

…and ready for sleep…

While I worked with Morfar on Saturday, Mormor took Molli Malou to the National Museum. They have a children’s area. She told me all about it and how much Molli Malou had enjoyed it. She showed me pictures. She told me admission was free. So when Molli Malou and I went to Tivoli at 10am this morning only discover they didn’t open until until 11, I decided to give the nearby museum a whirl.

Here’s Molli Malou at the helm:

Up on her high horse:

Responding really well to the complex request: “Stand back there behind the thing and stick your head in the hole”:

Getting armed on her way to plunder:

Another shot of the little Viking sailor:

Who also happens to be a talented brick-layer:

As soon as it was close to 11 we made our way to Tivoli, where the world’s largest snow globe has been the talk of the town. Here’s an establishing shot for a sense of proportion:

A little closer up:

And closer still:

From there we went straight to the hall of the elves.

Molli Malou liked the elves and the animals.

The Christmas tree at the heart of Tivoli was its usual magnificent self.

And they had the same little musical area they had last year.

John, Sandie, and Liam joined us after about an hour.

There was a little train ride running through the hall of the elves, and we thought the kids would love it. Sandie and I rode with Liam and Molli Malou. It was by far the dullest ride she’d ever been on at Tivoli, but for no apparent reason she had a complete meltdown after about the third lap and freaked out so badly I had to pull her out of her seat beside Liam and comfort her in my lap.

We were all baffled by the response. Even her. “Like the train,” she said. “I was sad. Like the train. Malou sad.”

“Are you still sad?”

“No, I am happy.”

“Was it the elves? Were you scared?”

“Like the elves.”

“The polar bears?”

“Like the polar bear.”

“What was it?”

But no answer ever materialized. So I’m chalking it up to the same separation anxiety that’s had her waking up with nightmares in the middle of most nights. She misses her mother and every once in a while she just freaks out over it.

Either that or the animatronic elves really did get to her, but she was afraid it would jinx her Christmas if she admitted it…

I just got a Skype call from Trine who is less than an hour from heading to the airport, so I promised I’d post this immediately for her.

So I will.