Raising a Royal To Be "Normal"

     Is it even possible to raise a British royal child as a "normal" person?   
     According to a Vogue Daily on-line report (March 26, '19), Prince Harry and Meghan Markle will raise their first-born differently from previous royals.

     The nursery will have vegan paint, eco-friendly products, and, according to People magazine, the duchess will "probably make her own baby food." She is considering hiring a doula (someone who provides emotional and physical support during birth) and will focus on "calm and positive energy around the birth."
     A source told E!News that "Meghan is also keen for her child to be fully aware of his or her American heritage." This may translate into sending the child to an American school, one of which is located not too far from the couple's new home of Frogmore Cottage in Windsor.

     The pair is considering a "manny," or a male nanny. Per a source in The Sun, Meghan "is keen to introduce the royal family to what she considers a more enlightened, modern American" (who must be bi-lingual because Meghan speaks Spanish and is picking up French).
     What about the child's title? "The Duke and Duchess of Sussex will not seek any official royal role for their first child," according to The (London) Times in October, and may forego a title.
     Does this make a royal child "normal" in a house that is now undergoing a $2.5-$3.8 million renovation (which will include a Scarlet O'Hara double staircase, yoga studio, all new fireplaces, five bedrooms, and soundproofing, among other things)? Based on the life Meghan is living prior to the child's arrival, it's doubtful.

     Meghan's baby shower was held in New York City in a 10,000-square-foot penthouse in the five-star Mark Hotel. Guests included Serena Williams, Gayle King, and Amal Clooney, who received leather tote bags retailing around $200, as did all the guests. The totes were filled with a designer candle, designer body butter, rice enzyme powder, and Honest Beauty products (company founded by Jessica Alba), also known for natural baby products. When the guests departed, they received Away suitcases, retailing for $225-$295.
     I don't remember receiving favors from baby showers that weren't a candle, a fake flower arrangement, or a picture frame (presumably for the new baby's photo)!
     The guests at the Markle shower participated in a group activity. Under the direction of a professional florist, each guest made an individual vase. The arrangements were then donated to Repeat Roses, which delivers to hospices, homeless shelters, and treatment centers like the Ronald McDonald House.
     Let us hope the new baby will be raised in this spirit of charity and will at some point actually visit a Ronald McDonald House.


   


   
   

Camilla and Charles Babysit While the Royals Visit the Colonies

Charles:   For the love of heaven, what is that beastly smell?

Camilla:    It's Prince George's biggie.  He just finished his lunch.

Charles:   Can't you do something?                                                                  

Camilla:   Sedrick (butler) is bringing rubber gloves and an apron.  Should I order you
               a mask?

Charles:   No, just get it done.  Oh no, oh no!  He just vomited over my velvet
               slippers.  It's vile - it's green.

Camilla:   It's just peas, Charles.  Kate said to give them a try.  Here's Sedrick now.
               Help me get the Prince out of the highchair, would you, Charles?

Charles:  Sedrick, I need a wet towel right away.
               You know I have a bad back, Camilla.  I can't lift him - he's a load.

Camilla:   And I just had my nails done.  Come on, give me a hand.
               (they both lift Prince George)

Charles:   Stop squirming, son!  My god, he's heavy.  I can't hold him.
               (Prince George and Camilla fall sideways onto carpet)
               Holy Queen Mother!  Are you hurt, Camilla?

Camilla:   (slightly winded)  George fell on top of me.  Get his doctor!
               (Prince screaming on top of Camilla)

Charles:   Where is that nanny when we need her?  Where's Sedrick?
                Oh, there you are, Sedrick..  There's been a fall.  Summon the Prince's
               doctor immediately.
                Not a word of this, mind you!
                (takes wet towel as Sedrick retreats again for doctor)
                Take deep breaths, darling.  The Prince will be fine.  He had a soft landing
                on that lovely bosom.  (Prince George's cries turn to whimpers)
                Up-a-daisy, now.

Camilla:    (on her knees, handing Prince George to Charles)
               Oh, my nails are ruined!  Where is that nanny?

Sedrick:   (reappearing)  The doctor's on his way.  I'll take the Prince to his nanny.

Charles:    And do something about that odor, will you, Sedrick?
                Some spray, perhaps?
                I need to calm down.  Where's the paper, Camilla?

Camilla:     I need to get an appointment with my manicurist.

Charles:    (scanning paper)
                Look at this, Camilla!  They're in Brooklyn, of all places, for some brutish,
                smelly game. There's a monster with his arm around Kate.
                Didn't he get the protocol sheet?
             
Camilla:    (looking at news photo)
                She's making the best of it with that smile.  Always a good girl.
                William doesn't notice - his eyes are on Beyonce.

Charles:    Leave it to the Yanks to create a tempest.

Camilla:    We didn't need a Yank to create a tempest, did we now, Charles?

Charles:    Don't go there, Camilla.  Here they are at a gala.  I wonder what that
                 frock cost the Treasury?

Camilla:    It's elegant and covers her baby bump. Frumpy's all you get in
               The Pretty Pregnant Boutique here.

Charles:    Maybe the next one won't eat like a gargantuan or poo like a horse.

Camilla:    Her stylist outdid herself with those five 'do's.  Are they going away again
                soon?

Charles:   If they must, we'll be heading off in the opposite direction!




             


           
           
           

Pump It Up

"Pump it up" does not refer to an aerobic routine, body building, implanting anything foreign in the body, or even  balloons.

It is the name of a franchise where children under age ten go berserk.

Last weekend I attended my first "Pump It Up" party for our granddaughter's fifth birthday.  Twenty-six party-goers gathered in the lobby, where they ran from end to end, careening into each other.  A staff member herded them onto a carpeted area to watch a safety video.  No movie, no entrance.  Silence ensued - during the movie.  The attendant crowned our granddaughter "Princess" and asked her to lead the procession into the abyss.  First, though, they had to wait for a previous group to exit.  Parties were scheduled every half-hour.  While waiting, the attendant morphed into a cheerleader.  "Who's the Princess?" she yelled.

In unison:  "Emma!"

"Who??"

"Emma!!!" 

The kids were psyched into a frenzy.  Around their necks they wore glow sticks to identify them inside the black chasm. Strip lights outlined bouncy structures.  Parents and grandparents ran through the expanse to find their darlings, but the darlings had been swallowed.  "They'll be asleep by six tonight," I said to no-one.

There were four bouncy houses in this room (each held ten), an inflatable slide two stories high, riding toys for those under three years, and air hockey.  An attendant monitored each structure.

One of our grandsons came down the slide immediately behind a girl twice his size.  He tumbled into her at the bottom, where they both exploded in ludicrous laughter.  Then he rolled over the inflatable barrier and fell onto the mat below.  His neck tilted at an unnatural 90-degree angle.  I rushed to help him, sure he'd never move again.  He started back up the steps before I even reached the mat.

After thirty minutes, a loud speaker announced that party goers should line up to proceed to the next room.  More inflatable structures, but higher.  I was grateful for a bench near the exit, where I withdrew into my coat, tortoise-like.  It muffled the high-pitched squeals.

An interminable thirty minutes passed before the loudspeaker announced that party goers should line up to proceed to the "food court."  Here Emma took her place on an inflatable throne, her crown still intact.  Staff members served pizza, water bottles, pretzels, cheese doodles, and cake.  Did these kids really need more sugar??

"What do they charge for this?" I said to my daughter-in-law. 

"Four dollars a head for the hour and a half, up to twenty-six kids.  But then you have to select a food package."

"A food package?"

"Yes, and I had to bring our cake."

"What are the food packages?"

"You could select hot dogs and that would cost a lot more.  And you could add more hours for an additional cost per kid."

Why hadn't I thought of this?