In Which Molli Malou Is Sick

Mr. Peabody is going to activate the Wayback Machine, folks, because it’s been a (relatively) long time between posts. While my boy Sherman lines up the photos, I’ll make excuses: Trine’s been cramming for (and taking) her exams, I’ve been going like mad trying to finish the first draft of this book, and Molli Malou was sick for five days with what we think was the Rota virus, then yesterday came down with a fever of nearly 40 C (104.5 F)—a fever she’s still running, but which has gone down enough (38.1 C tonight) that we let her go to vuggestue today.

I see Sherman’s got the photos ready, so let’s turn on the Wayback machine and head back to late May…

Suzanne (Grosso) Vidal was in town with a Swedish friend, and we got to spend an evening with them. Suzanne brought Molli Malou a little purse that won her over instantly, so the usual half hour of shy coquetry was dispensed with:

Molli Malou went through a brief phase of obsessing over sunglasses, her fixation alternating between her own (see previous post) and mine:

Morfar came over one Saturday toward the end of May for a lunch visit and to help us with some electrical issues. Molli Malou seemed to know what was expected of her, and put on a show for him the entire duration of his visit. Here she is showing off her new hat.

I took a shot of Molli Malou while she was ambling toward me in the hat, but the shutter couldn’t keep up with her approach. So I got a the kind of close-up that would be absolutely unforgiving to anyone old enough to shave or wear make-up, but with Molli Malou it came out kind of fun. (I like the color contrasts, even if it is a lousy photo of a human being.)

As part of her Morfar-entertainment regimen she insisted on showing what a helpful little girl she could be when it came time to pull out the toolkits.

The next photo has no back story that I can recall. I just like it.

Morfar patiently explained everything he was doing to his granddaughter.

The granddaughter then explained how she’d do things differently. (The poor girl… both her grandfathers are engineers but her father can barely screw in a lightbulb.)

Okay, now let’s accellerate the wayback machine right over the 4-5 days of her vomitous virus and resume yesterday, 2. Pinse Dag, with the annual Kammer family picnic at Frederiksberg Garden. The day got off to a sunny but awful start when Molli Malou went listless about ninety minutes before we were supposed to leave for the park: we took her temperature and it was stratospheric. It was the highest fever she’d ever had, so we called the doctor and were told to keep her cool and hydrated and let it run its course.

Here’s how she (Molli, not the doctor) looked by the time we got to the park:

The sky was interesting. Two hemispheres seemed to be colliding directly above us: one gray and surly, the other sunny and blue. We hoped aloud the blue would win.

Mormor even did a lariat weather dance to ward off the storm gods.

The storm gods surely enjoyed the performance, but unloaded on us anyway. We moved the table under a tree.

Anden Pinse Dag is traditionally one of the biggest picnic days of the year at Frederiksberg Garden. You’ve seen the pictures from previous years. Now look at this: from us straight up to the castle, not a single other soul.

It looks like we’re cowering under the tree, but we’re not. We’re braving it out under the tree. The cowerers left the park hours ago.

Of course, the weather wasn’t a turn-off to everyone…

And some people slept through the whole ordeal:

Now, quickly, because I want to go to bed, I should reiterate that Molli Malou’s fever has dropped to “oh, she’s running a little fever” kind of levels, and that she is absolutely not at all seriously ill.

I should mention that she astonished me yesterday, even at the height of her fever, when I asked her if she wanted more grapes. She had just swallowed one, and I figured she’d want to replace the one in her hand as soon as she popped it in her mouth. She looked at me quizically and said, “Jeg har en grape.” Which is Danish for, “I have a vindrue.” It was, I think, the first full and gramatically correct sentence she ever used on me (the awkward combination of languages notwithstanding). She’s used one or two more since then, but I can’t even remember what anymore. (I think this morning when I picked her up out of her crib she said something in some combination of languages like, “Out the door and into the living room, Daddy, no more sleeping!” — which, although not technically a complete sentence, was pretty damn impressive all the same.)