What I Did this Weekend

At eleven this morning, am disturbed by bathrobe-clad Neighbor ringing bell. Upon my opening the door, he informs me that my Children were banging on the Wall early this morning. Look him up and down and pointedly ask whether, by Early, he means Just Now. His Mother cracks open the door and whispers to him that it was Around Six. It was around Six, he says to me. Tell him that it could not have been earlier than Seven. Should also like to give him to understand that Drinking Less would Help and, inexplicably, to bring up the incident a few months earlier, wherein police officers were rather loudly Asking Questions concerning some of his associates. Moreover, the topic of Smoking in the Stairwell rises to mind. Repress all such ad hominem rejoinders and apologize - though am afraid apology rather lacking in proper Feeling. Really, does he think I enjoy being woken up at seven on a Sunday Morning?

Morning is spent in taking all three Children to Birthday Party at Kids in Action via bus and subway and subsequent desperate Crawl through colorful padded labyrinth in hot pursuit of Infant, who seems intent on sampling every slide, but is eventually persuaded to adjourn to the ball pit, where he proceeds to throw balls at unknown little girl. Journey home is further complicated by three helium balloons, which threaten to enmesh fellow-Passengers, as well as loudly-expressed desire of all three Children to sit next to the Window, on my lap. Can only be thankful that the last, at least, is not physically possible.

At home, receive call from Husband (who is on Call tonight), urgently enquiring Who was the First Pope? After some thought, dredge up memory of reference to Peter's Chair and venture that It was Probably Peter, which turns out to be Correct. Husband informs me that this question was posed by Nurse, who was disappointed that none of the Catholic staff knew this; whereupon my loving helpmeet bet them that I would know. Am certain this way of spousely showing-off is preferable to that described in Remarque's Black Obelisk (the only part of the book am able to recall is a man asking his wife to come downstairs and pull large Nails out of the wall with her posterior, to the admiration and astonishment of his Friends).