Cuckoo

So I have a couple of odd life goals. They’re not things I need to do in order to live a fulfilled life, but they’re the kinds of things I just really want to see happen before I die. They include items such as:

Throw a Tupperware where everyone comes in 1950’s clothing and we drink martinis while discussing inappropriate things in veiled code.

Publish one little thing, but not the great American novel.

Skinny dip in a secluded lake (you all thought I’d done that already).

Own a genuine cuckoo clock.

Oh wait, I can cross that last one off my list. We just got one.

My home is so not cuckoo clock style. I’ve always wanted one and when we went to brunch with my dad on Sunday, we noticed the clock store next door was going out of business. Lily loves looking in the window at the clocks there (we do brunch with the extended family almost every weekend) and so we went inside for one last look. And there it was, sitting up on the wall, enchanting Lily (OK, and me) with its silly cuckoo’s and the tiny spinning dancers and the very creepy squirrels. I talked to the woman there about the price and my dad, who gets dragged through antique shops all the time, nudged me and said through his teeth, “That’s a really good price.”

So we bought it.

And we love it.

Lily spent the first afternoon we had it sitting on her stool and watching it for hours. When she has to run to the bathroom, she’ll stop as she passes and inform me that she just wants to look at it for a minute. The girls will both stop whatever they’re doing, Lily yelling, “MY CUCKOO CLOCK!” and run to the clock every half hour, clapping as the dance ends and the cuckoo disappears. We’ve named the tiny set of twins: Berta and Gerta and their dates, Hans and Franz. The bird remains nameless, but I’m sure not for long.

I know the charm will wear off and it’ll just become something we have. But for now, it’s brought a bit of frivolity and laughter into our home. Really, who could ask for anything more?