Monday, June 29, 2009
But here's the deal. Before our visit to MN Bug said, "airport," like "ohport." It's the cutest dang thing! My sisters even call it the ohport now and it is definitely ohport in our little family nucleus. Bug loves planes and airports and really just about anything with an engine. In MN, Bug went on an airplane ride with my dad in a sporty wee plane. Earlier posts have pictures of them checking the plane and my son wearing the headphones.
Since then whenever I say, "ohport" Bug corrects me and says it's the "erport." He says it proudly and corrects me kindly. And I know, once he starts reading, my cute little reminder of my cute young boy will vanish into the word correctly pronounced "airport."
Reading begins early here in Scotland. He starts school soon. And, I just know I will start getting comments like, "What a spunky guy." Or, "He's growing up to be such a nice kid." Maybe even a, "Ma'am, sorry to disturb you at this hour, but your teenage son has been caught streaking the village center again." There are many who know him who've already placed bets on such a thing happening.
I am his mother writing this blog and so, of course, I imagine only the good and the questionable comments that I will receive about my son who will most likely be able to read the word "airport" and God willing also correctly pronounce the word airport. And, when I hear the good and the questionable comments about my son, I know I will want to say, "I knew him before he could read! He said lovely and endearing things like oatmoh and ohport." But I won't. I will probably have to say, "I'm sorry about that officer, I was reading and haven't done his laundry in ages."
Sunday, June 28, 2009
One of G's talents is balance. Ah, yes, balance. Attorneys and lucrative commerical deals, please sign in below....
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I am a worrier. We all know that I am. I worry about the plights of things. I worry about bees. I worry about their little unnamed plague and how it could affect the world as we know it. I worry about them so much that I bought my mom a bee hive from Andrew's Recyclables in Seattle. Recycled timber made into a bee hive that needs no upkeep. Perfect. Surely a safe home for some of the buzzies while the scientists figure out how to save the entire world's bee population. Keep in mind that my mom complained more about a bee sting during our visit home than her recovery from the major abdominal surgery which was the cause for our visit home. But, she is an avid gardener and I thought it wasn't a self-serving a gift until the complaints began.
I also have a fear of bees. Walking home through the fields from the Tickled Trout yesterday, I noticed quite a few bees amongst the wild phlox and flowering mint. Then, I had a vision of a giant killer swarm of Scottish bees surrounding me, stinging me to death, and leaving my warped and stung body where it dropped with only the Highland Cows as witness. I've not claimed my worries or fears are reasonable.
Sure enough, around the bend and over the creek there was a field flowering Scottish something growing on both sides of the path. A bee for each blossom. A buzz for each stamon. Truly, the air hummed. I thought that I had psychic powers, that I had foreseen my death amd that death was my next step through the field. There were even Highland Cows chewing their cud in the rare Scottish sun.
Then my phone rang. It was a friend calling to tell me her woes. I don't even remember getting through the deadly fields or up the path or even through the park to get to the train station home. That's the best thing about my friends. I am fearless in their company.