I hear you snickering. Shut up.
Seriously, the cable company? Not on my nice list today. I had more snapshots, but instead of writing them down first and transferring them to the blog, per usual (or even making cryptic notes like "Elab. RE: butts!" which, even if I forget what they mean, are at least intriguing to my three-hours-later self), I decided to type them directly into Blogger. I also had a semi-lengthy eloquent (I swear) pitch going in Yahoo Mail. So of course when I tried to save or post the blog, and send the mail, Cox flopped.
Seriously, shut up.
The phone, Internet, everything.
It's back up, mostly, now. So here are some of the snapshots, but I swear it was better before. Grr.
Cox sucks. (Shut up.)
But either way, get a load of my son's shots. He rocks, no?
My husband: "Did you see it?"
Me: "I did. Thanks for the ice cream!"
My husband: "What about the note?"
Me: "Oh, I love you too."
My husband: (Smiles)
Me: "But seriously, thanks for the ice cream.
My son begged and begged to take his camera on the field trip to the local heart center. After asking his teacher and several bring-it-back-or-else lectures, I sent it with him. He was a hit. He video taped the presentations and documented the entire event, but I'm not allowed to share the majority of the footage because every single segment features things like "...and that's why the arteries constrict. DAVID WATCH THIS!!" punctuated by his friends making goober faces and flapping their arms at the camera like the guy who played Paul Pfeiffer did in the Wonder Years credits.
My son: "Mom, what does this word say?"
Me: "You read it. You know how to read."
My son: "No, really."
Me: "OK, fine. Read me the letters."
My son: "C-O-C-K ... never mind. I have it now."
He had saved up his coins for ages. I came out a few weeks ago to a giant mound of pennies and nickels, seven dollars in all. He wanted to order a book from the Scholastic order by himself. I exchanged the coins for a check and mailed it off, only to have a bit of bank-balance-related drama in the meantime. When his book didn't arrive in time, I was so worried it was our fault. He'd be crushed. Turns out the order was late. He got his book and spent the weekend reading it
My son: "Um, Uh, Mom?"
My son: "Wha.. er, eh, what... oooh, ahh, what, what, er, ah, oooh ah, wha.... what is it ... oooh, ahh.... what is it when people, when people, when they can't get out a word sound?"
Me: "You mean stuttering?"
My son: "Yeah. I'm glad ... ooh, ahh... I'm glad I, er, ah, oooh .... I'm glad I don't do anything like that."
When I woke up, there was an elaborately folded construction-paper package on the bathroom counter: "TO MOM FROM DAVID. OPEN IT." There was a picture of a pterosaur saying "I love Mom," and also a twirled blue and red ribbon and a nickel.
He came bursting out of the school front doors, elbowing his friend and cracking a joke. He didn't even glance at me. He looked so dang old. I was so proud. And more than a little freaked out. An hour later, when he cried over something trivial and ran to me, I felt awful for being a tiny bit relieved.
We read the part involving an incarcerated dragon in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. He almost got choked up about the fictional creature. Later, when he compared it to circus elephants, he did get choked up, and angry. Dang, I love this kid.
He told me he had a good day, but held my hand a little too tightly. It was slick with sweat from both our hands by the time we'd finished our walk. "OK, Mom," he confessed. "I had only a sort of good day." By the time he was done confiding in me, he said, it felt like a "100 percent good day."
He's going to write a book some day about how turkey vultures are beautiful and not ugly at all, he told me this morning.