Lucy drew a jellyfish, or I should say, DZEWWYFITH!
That thing is just deadly-cute, in my opinion.
The inspiration of this image is no doubt the trip to the aquarium we took in Texas while visiting my mom and sister 2 weeks ago. It was a trip made at Lucy’s request. We like to go to the aquarium during our winter visit (it’s too sweltering in the summer to do the outside stuff) and although I reckoned her much too young to remember last year’s, when I mentinoed various possible activities, that was the one she immediately went for. Eliza allowed her arm to be twisted (HAHA) and accompany us.
The dolphin show was excellent and you have not lived until you have seen it described by a 2-year-old, completely with pinwheeling arms and adorable lisp.
My love for her lisp knows no bounds, and I suspect that when it disappears, I will be just as devastated as I was when Eliza suddenly stopped phrasing everything in the second-person interrogative. (Sample dialogue for those of you not on board at the time: Should Mommy get you some crackers? translated to: Mommy, get me a cracker!)
Remember those days, when every conversation with her sounded like an episode of Jeopardy? I miss those days. And I am really quite surprised that her game show of choice, when she manages to catch one, is Wheel of Fortune. Dude, you trained for Jeopardy FOR YEARS! WTH?!
Anyway. I do not know what we shall do as our traditional “Grandma needs time in the hotel to freak out by herself” activity the day before the Boston Marathon, but I suspect the aquarium is on the shortlist.
Which is not to bury the lede — no, my mom persists in her quest to finish her goddamn fifth marathon, dammit! Thwarted once by illness and once by bombers, this has become a multi-year quest. We are all a little traumatized still from last year (go ahead and make a loud metal-crashing type of sound around me if you would like to amuse yourself and also get punched in the face) but we are pretending all is finefinefine and sallying forth with our plans as per usual.
I realize it is not a pinnacle of filmmaking, regardless of how many Bens or Matts are in it, but I keep thinking of that scene in Good Will Hunting where Will describes his abusive father making him pick what belt he wants to be whipped with and he says he always picked the biggest belt “because F*** him, that’s why!”
This is not a uniquely Bostonian sentiment, but I suspect it is in the hearts of a good many who plan to flock to the city regardless of lingering twitchiness come April.
Here, let’s back away from the unpleasantness with some kids pics, shall we? This is the baby bath at my mom’s house, which the moppets hauled out and Eliza declared was a bobsled:
She and my mom watched more bobsled, luge, and skeleton than I thought was physically possible. They enjoy watching people hurl themselves downhill at high speeds, especially when they say run and yell real loud beforehand.
Winter notwithstanding, of course we visited the beach, and my children went in the water because they enjoy ice cream headache of the foot, apparently.
I do not have pictures of them from the first night of our stay. We’d gotten up at 4:30 and both of them were way too excited to sleep on the plane or afterward because Grandma Texas! and Auntie Johanna!
As a consequence, by bedtime, Eliza was catatonic and Lucy was just wandering around weeping bitter, inconsolable tears of tiredness. She fell asleep drinking her bottle before I could even read her a story and I took this picture at 7:20 (8:20 our time, and my night-owl toddler usually goes to sleep 9-ish) and sent it to Jim with the caption, “Lucy is professionally done with this being awake bullsh!t”.
Way back before all of that, on Presidents Day, Jim, Eliza and I went to the ski place and Jim did his shushing down the mountain thing while Eliza and I snowtubed. There was a guy there who would give you a spin as he pushed you down the hill and Eliza and I both got ourselves good and spun — by the time you got to the bottom of the hill and staggered up to climb it again, you were good and drunk-looking. Eliza confided that she was never sure, at the start of the ride when the centrifugal force was the strongest, whether or not her boots would stay on this time. I was more concerned about whiplash and/or vomiting.
Still, we were very sad when that guy went on break.
As for the rest, Eliza continues to be made entirely of elbows, but she has lately been in the habit of climbing into bed for 5 minutes of chatter before she starts her day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we look at the latest Nimona together and wonder what! will! happen! next! to our favorite medieval-future universe characters. On Thursdays we grumble about how long it is until the next Tuesday.
Nimona day is one of my favorite holidays.
For a time, I also especially looked forward to Sausage Friday on TLo, which translates to Tom and Lorenzo, a style site. They make a point of doing boy celebrity style on Fridays. Sadly, I fear the heady days of the Star Trek press tour are unlikely to be reached ever again. I miss the days of Chris Pine running around New York in three-piece Ralph Lauren suits, and Zachary Quinto in head-to-toe Alexander McQueen at Cannes. I legitimately got a little teary just now looking at his shoes.
As a PR hack myself, I spent most of May seething with professional jealousy at whoever got the task of publicizing this film and the spectacular asset s/he was handed in the flirtatiously competitive Pine/Quinto bromance. Also, the hotness, but that was less professional jealousy and more sheer covetousness.
Too bad the film was a betrayal of everything Star Trek stands for (rant elided), but hey, can’t win ’em all.
We have been partaking of popular culture. Lucy cannot seem to learn her name, but she instantly recognizes any song by “DAT ROYAL GURR” and One Republic’s Counting Stars appears to be the Song Of Her Heart currently.
This is the sort of video that is fun to watch with kids because while the band and director are just about spraining something in their efforts to be profound! and artistic! my kids are just sitting there going, “Why dere a cwocodile Mommy?” and “Oh, dat puhson fell frough da floih” and “Is that an alligator or a crocodile? And how did it get there? It shouldn’t be so far from water! And why are they dancing like that? Will that crocodile eat someone? They better be careful!” etc.
Children are the best protection against pretentious filmic frippery, I think.
I, meanwhile, have been listening to Beyonce’s newest, and the last thing I expected to feel while doing so was sympathy. Obviously, Beyonce’s life and mine have little in common, and yet there are elements of this album that rings weirdly, startlingly true for me. There’s a lot there that sounds like Queen Bey is working out the whole “how to be a mom and do all the other stuff I used to do” question, and that’s a conundrum I can relate to.
Also, Haunted is stunning and sound like someone may have listened to too much Massive Attack, which is never a bad thing.