The Cape

We shipped this cape all across a continent and an ocean and I am glad I insisted. Currently this is the "Robert the Bruce" cape. If you don't know who Robert the Bruce is then please do a Wikipedia search. Bug will correct you on any questionable details.

These are of my son with a winter glove on one hand, a stuffed dolphin from Kas D, and a cape that is really a long bit of sparkly fabric from our old neighbor's birthday party...two years ago? Anyway, one paltry definition of sublime is when something becomes more than just what it is. A long piece of blue fabric becomes a portal to this guy's mind. I'm glad I shipped the cape.

Love in All Its Forms

I've tried to write about CC's visit and the special relationship she has with us and our kids. But, really there is no other way to put it than this... Bug wrestled a blow-up wading pool for ten minutes when she arrived. He was so excited he had no idea what to do with himself. The best part is that with CC I don't feel I need to correct or guide Bug's behavior. We just talked as he wrestled in the background and called for CC to watch now and then when he felt the pool needed a break. I think this explains why boys think they are flirting and girls think that boys are just dumb - for the good long while that girls think boys are dumb.

Laundered Words

I don't want my son to read. I know, I know. Gasp! Who'd a thunk I would come up with an anti-reading blog post? I mean, my husband certainly doesn't. I've got this thing about books. They're scattered everywhere on my side of the bed, down the stairs, in the kitchen... We trip over my reading material more often than we trip over my shoes or the kids' toys or the laundry perpetually unfinished because I am reading.

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."

American

One of the calming things about not being in the States is to realize how very universal some of America's struggles are. As an American, there is a spector of slavery, of racism. I think it's more in the past than it is when I find out that there are still segregated proms in parts of the States. Finding these things out, I just can't breathe. How do you bring kids up in a world where the human condition is tenuous enough to be feared and not shared?

Then there is Louis Hamilton. He's a superstar Brit racecar driver. Some Europeans dressed in blackface last fall during one of his races. I realized then, in a visceral manner, that Americans aren't the only ones that can be racist. Then, I saw him tonight in a commercial. HA! Praises be. He's making more money than any racist has at his expense. Whew. That's how you do it. You don't listen to the fears or the fearful. You listen to what's right. Friendships, celebrations, chocolate (if you're Baby G for sure you listen to the chocolate cake for celebrating your birthday with friends). You also listen to your God-given talents, your good attorney and your agent that signs you up for a lucrative commercial deal...

One of G's talents is balance. Ah, yes, balance. Attorneys and lucrative commerical deals, please sign in below....

Dancing

My sisters and I used to dance in our jammies after a bath. My parents would laugh with pleasure and we thought we were beautiful. Skilled. Amazing.

It is with great pleasure I note that this belief is a genetic trait which I have passed on to my daughter.