Every once in awhile I take a picture of myself in the car while waiting to pick up children, drop off children, or even pick up AND drop off children.
In the film industry they call this an establishing shot, like when a movie begins and you see all these pictures of Manhattan, you can sit back and relax, knowing you'll be in Manhattan for the next two hours.
This way I can sit back and relax, knowing I'll be in the car for the next two hours.
Only I feel a bit disingenuous for Instagramming the picture. Instagram, if you were unaware, has this shameless way of taking 70 years off your face and dipping you in a pot of honey. I only mention this because sometimes I wonder what would happen if I met you in real life and you were all: Where's the Tollipop girl? And when I said: you're looking at her, your expression would turn to one of horror and you'd swear, at best, I was the great aunt.
Oh well...the point to all this is I've been in the car a lot lately.
Sometimes I wonder, if I could stretch out all the miles I drive around this city into one continuous trip, where would I be by now?
This week we've been hosting a young man named Alex who's been attending the same music camp as Izzy, and I finally get why everyone makes such a fuss about having a son.
Two nights ago we were walking down a long hallway at the university campus--just me, him, and Izzy. Another girl was heading in our direction and she asked us a question, sort of in a mumbling voice. Alex didn't catch what she said and there ensued this awkward exchange wherein he asked her to repeat herself, wanting to be of help.
When she did, he exclaimed: Oh, that isn't what I thought you said!
So she was all: What did you think I said?
And Alex was all (totally straight): I thought you said "Has anyone seen Rachmaninoff?"
She skewered him with a stare, holding her thumb and index finger up together, and said: Um, Rachmaninoff is just a little bit dead.
Izzy and I started laughing, but the thing that really killed me wasn't her reaction so much as the awesomeness of what he thought she said.
Like, if you didn't hear what some girl said to you, why of all things would you assume she said that??
It's a perfect example why I like Alex so much.
I'd imagine in the insect world this might be frowned upon, since they're big on instinct and all, but lately I've taken to feeding Marshall by hand.
I can't help it. Just between you and me, Marshall's hunting skills are very subpar...which must be humiliating given the word preying actually pops up in his own name.
I'm not a big advocate of tough love, dear reader. Sometimes vaguely firm, but never tough. Marshall will find his way, he'll assume his rung on the food chain when he's ready for it.
Until then, I'm happy to prepare his ants just the way he likes them.