We bought Malcolm a suit. Why did we buy him a suit? Don’t we know that he won’t wear it very often, take very good care of it, or fit in it for very long? Of course we do! Of course we know all those things! So why did we do it? I’m honestly not sure, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I think, maybe, we bought him a suit because he wanted one. Not that he brattily demanded one, and threw a tantrum, and wouldn’t let us rest until we agreed to buy him one. I don’t think he even expected one – he seemed surprised when I told him we were going shopping for it. The fact that he wanted to wear a suit seemed so sweet, and so cool in a way that’s just like Malcolm and no one else. He has a dance on Friday, and he told me he wanted to wear a suit to the dance. I asked if anyone else was wearing one, and he said, “I don’t care!” To me, that’s the very definition of coolness in a ten-year-old boy. Malcolm doesn’t dress like the average American ten-year-old. He has a real sense of style – not outlandish, but unique – it might be called “stylie ragamuffin.” I love this about Malcolm! I love to think about him thinking about what he’ll wear, because he’s not anxious about getting it right, he’s cheerful about it, and if he wants to wear it, it is right. He’s got style with ease, baby. He’s fond of certain clothes, and he’s happy in them. Of course he didn’t want the kind of suit kids wear to school dances. He wanted the kind of suit the Blues Brothers wear, well, all the time. A mod suit, a hep suit, a timelessly suave suit. It was fun to hear him describe it, fun to watch him pick it out, and try it on, and walk around the house feeling good in it. Like all mothers, I think my own boys are the most beautiful in the world. And the thing about Malcolm is that he could wear anything. He could pull off any look, he could make any clothes look good. Not just because his healthy vegetarian diet has made him strapping and lean, but because he seems so comfortable in his body, so sure of his movements, so free and easy and strong. I worry about the years ahead, the teenage years when people try to make you feel bad about yourself and your clothes and your hair and your choices, and it’s easy to become an insecure basket case. This seems to be starting earlier and earlier these days. Lord, I hope Malcolm can maintain his breezy self-assurance, his imagination, his idiosyncratic taste in music and clothes and food. It’s such a powerful pleasure to watch as his tastes form and grow – to watch him enjoy and identify with things, to watch him become a person, his own person. We’ll send him out into the cold and critical world armed with our love and pride and looking sharp in his natty new suit.

It’s cadbury mini egg season! If you recall, last year I baked them into just about everything I made. This year, I decided to crush them up and put them in ice cream. It’s quite simple, really. A lovely vanilla ice cream, with varying sizes of crushed cadbury egg in it. We smashed some with a mortar and pestle, and Malcolm actually grated some with a hand grater. So you have large pieces – most of the egg, really, and smaller crunchy bits of shell. You could probably just put them in a bag and smash them lightly with a hammer!

Here’s The Beastie Boys with The New Style
Continue reading →