And Then There Was That Time He Played With The Balls...

From Emilia's preschool progress report: We very much enjoy Emilia's storytelling, especially the stories she tells when she first gets to school in the mornings.

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"Guess what everybody, guess what!" She raced into the main play area and confronted two of her teachers. They knelt down, and nodded expectantly. What is it, Emilia? What?

"My Daddy has" - she took a deep breath - "NEW NUTS."

For a moment, the silence was deafening.

And then she opened her hand to reveal two almonds.

Not shown: nuts. The other kind.

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Once you've finished smiling - and I hope that that made you smile - go read this. My mom is wringing her heart out - and yelling and smashing things - over Tanner and my sister and the general suckage of life. She could use some support.

(I'm sorry that I keep closing comments. It's just, some days I'm not up for talk. And others, I'd rather direct talk where it's needed more. Like at the post I linked to above. Because I'm not ready to talk about it yet, but my mom is, and it needs to be talked about, and, well, you know. Please and thank you.)

Walk This Way

And so your baby springs to his feet and - oops, wait! down? no! up! go! - toddles toward the flowers - wait! stop! flowers! ooh! - and then - hey! up! - toward you toward you toward you - come here baby! - and your heart swells as he pitches forward, all leg-torque and flushed cheeks, your big precious boy using all the power of his newfound mobility to race to you, to fling his little self...

... right past you, right past you, and then, suddenly - ooh, look, ball! - down he goes. And gets up again, and toddles away, not looking back.

And you are torn between two feelings: a fierce pride in your wee determined lad, who is growing so fast, so very fast, and who will no doubt speed - away from you, alone, strong - into a brilliant future, and, also, a terrible, guilty sadness over the fact that, yes, he is growing so fast, so very fast, and he will one day - too soon - speed away from you. And not look back.

And so you settle on a third feeling, another (is it? yes, it is) shameful feeling: a tiny bit of satisfaction that he stumbles, that he will continue to stumble, now and again, as he reaches for the flowers, the ball, the sky. That he needs you. That he will need you for a very long time.

Not forever, but long enough.

(Is it so wrong to want him to slow down? To want to not let go of his hand?)

Why Don't You Leave Your Name And Your Number And I'll Get Back To You?

This, for those of you following at home, is called phoning it in.

I am so exhausted from a weekend visiting in-laws - during which Emilia took up drumming and basketball and other activities more ordinarily associated with teenage boys than preschool girls - and I think that I'm coming down with something and, also, probably suffering from an iron-deficiency and so I'm having real trouble summoning the creative energies to say anything profound or funny or even remotely interesting.

Shown: Hoodlum, Preschool Female v.2.0

So I am, for today, just going to have to direct you elsewhere:

1) I'm not sure, but I think that whoever is writing this blog knows my kid. Hang on: maybe it is my kid. Whichever one of you taught her how to blog, you're fired.

2) This is me wringing my hands about Bill O'Reilly. Look how much fun I'm having! My joy is almost palpable. NOT.

3) You know how you're always telling me that I never update you on stuff, like how is my nephew Zachary, the one who was so deathly ill last fall? Well, I don't need to, because my mother is on top of that. You'll be interested - or not - to know that he's well enough to be having teh sex. I'm going to pretend that I didn't just write that.

3) I didn't write this, but I wish that I had.

4) Boobs.

That's all that I've got. Sorry.

Come On Feel The Noize

The only difference between these two musical performances, so far as I can tell, is that in only one does anyone burst into flame.

Which is good, because I don't, as a rule, keep fire extinguishers in the diaper bag.