This week the following things happened. (Stop reading now if you tire of my blog posts as lists) :
1) Jack woke one Thursday and decided some early-morning vacuuming was in order. He roused the bleary household. When baby toddled too near his vacuum, he pushed baby over, spent the waning minutes before his bus arrived sitting in time out, and then stormed from the house screaming as he ran to his bus. There he climbed the stairs, threw himself dramatically in the aisle, and howled his displeasure to Doris and Missy, his bus driver and bus aide, respectively. Jack is proof that I live with thespians, who have been gifted with a flair for the dramatic arts.
2) Charlie and Jack rocked their swimming lesson. Charlie can now float on his back without shrieking. Jack kept his swim trunks on the entire duration of the lesson, huzzah!
3) Truman decided that bum-scooting is so passé. He walks. It’s adorable. Why do babies look so tiny when they stand on their shrimpy legs with their sweet portly bellies protruding, and start to toddle? They seem too small to be upright. Yet toddle they do.
4) Henry prepared anxiously for his first overnight scout campout on Friday. Tin foil dinner? Check. Giant backpack with sleeping bag, flashlight, water bottle, et al? Check. Boy belligerently informing his mom that she is being too overprotective by suggesting he bring a mess kit with a knife and fork? Check. Check yeah. And after all this, the campout was cancelled one hour before ETD.
5) Jeff and I saw the Jackie Robinson movie. This is my review: it’s a delightfully heartwarming period film about a wonderful man overcoming incredible odds because of his strength of character and the integrity of the people who stood at his side and supported him. It’s terrific because it’s all true and it really happened. And Harrison Ford has his first good old man performance as a gravelly-voiced old codger who propels Number 42 from the “negro leagues” to the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947.
6) Seeing The Great Gatsby trailers on our date nights has inspired the hubs to read the so-called “Great American Novel.” My English lit heart is so proud. I must subliminally encourage this type of book choice. Perhaps I’ll whisper gently in his ear as he sleeps, “Fitzgerald-penned American masterpieces are so much nicer than post-apocalyptic battle pulp fiction, and they make date night even cooler when we’ve BOTH read the book upon which the movie is based. Sleep peacefully, ‘Dutch.'”
7) The back of my van is the sorry recipient of Jack’s sassy little attitude problem as a car passenger recently. The cargo area has been dealt repeated blows in the unholy combination of Cheez-It’s, animal crackers, fries, shredded photographs, Coca-cola, and water bottles with their contents. The resulting paste is gag-inducing and the very reason my car is old, crappy, and not going to be replaced anytime soon. (Author’s aside: whenever I tell Jeff about one of Jack’s Destroying The Interior of Mom’s Car Escapades, he inevitably replies with gusto, “Not in our NEW ODYSSEY?!” and we laugh.)
8) While the air was still cold, we spent the evening in it anyway, reacquainting ourselves with the backyard. Baby decided that slides and trampolines are fun and tire swings are scary. I decided that it’s time for warmer weather to come hither because dude, I’m ready to stop hibernating.