Mammals have hair, right?
Well, Davis and I returned to my weekly women’s group meetings last week—we went all last winter and spring (such as it is in central PA) and it was wonderful to have adults to talk to who weren’t my husband, much as I adore him. So when things started back up after the summer hiatus, we decided to attend, which is to say that since the durn meeting takes place during morning naptime, we went after the nap and caught the last five minutes. Anyway, we got to be reacquainted with some of our favorite folks, one of whom is my friend Carmen’s son. His name is McLean and he is adorable—7 years old, smart as a whip, and so excessively polite that it sometimes makes me laugh out loud: “Um, excuse me, mom? I’m sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to let you know I won’t be interrupting you anymore.”
So one of the reasons I adore McLean (and his siblings Moira and Seamus—Carmen and her husband have kind of a County Cork theme going) is that he loves Davis beyond reason. Here is this kid, who is already perfectly great by anyone’s standards, and he loves my baby. Can you ask for more? The first time we went out with McLean, we were at a restaurant, and he’s there, cooing to Davis and petting him and kissing him, and he looks up at me and quite authoritatively says, “You know, babies are my favorite animals.” Of course I giggled at the sheer cuteness of this proclamation, and he suddenly looked a little flustered, thinking he’d said something wrong, and qualified his statement by adding, “well, my favorite mammals, anyway.” Of course at this point I actually laughed out loud, told him how great he was and proceeded to refer to Davis (and, in fact, all children) as the mammal for the next few months. But I digress.
So anyway, about my women’s group meeting: It was great to see everyone, see how the kids had grown up: Helen, who is also 7 and is McLean’s best friend, got glasses and looks quite scholarly and bookish, Benjamin, who is 3½, potty-trained and has a very grown-up short haircut. While we’re on that subject, what’s the age cutoff for the long-haired hippie-kid look for toddlers, anyway? I mean for normal families…for Davis, it’s like two months from now as my husband is still dealing with a scarring experience he had as a tot wherein he was mistaken for a girl thanks to his Dorothy-Hamill haircut. He responds to trauma by becoming extremely proactive, which means Davis will start having his hair shaved off any day now. I have threatened to call him “sarge,” but it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. At least the head shaving would ameliorate Big D’s baby mohawk problem (for a deeper discussion of the baby mohawk issue, see Gina Grace’s musings on the matter at http://ginapalooza.blogspot.com).
So one of the reasons I adore McLean (and his siblings Moira and Seamus—Carmen and her husband have kind of a County Cork theme going) is that he loves Davis beyond reason. Here is this kid, who is already perfectly great by anyone’s standards, and he loves my baby. Can you ask for more? The first time we went out with McLean, we were at a restaurant, and he’s there, cooing to Davis and petting him and kissing him, and he looks up at me and quite authoritatively says, “You know, babies are my favorite animals.” Of course I giggled at the sheer cuteness of this proclamation, and he suddenly looked a little flustered, thinking he’d said something wrong, and qualified his statement by adding, “well, my favorite mammals, anyway.” Of course at this point I actually laughed out loud, told him how great he was and proceeded to refer to Davis (and, in fact, all children) as the mammal for the next few months. But I digress.
So anyway, about my women’s group meeting: It was great to see everyone, see how the kids had grown up: Helen, who is also 7 and is McLean’s best friend, got glasses and looks quite scholarly and bookish, Benjamin, who is 3½, potty-trained and has a very grown-up short haircut. While we’re on that subject, what’s the age cutoff for the long-haired hippie-kid look for toddlers, anyway? I mean for normal families…for Davis, it’s like two months from now as my husband is still dealing with a scarring experience he had as a tot wherein he was mistaken for a girl thanks to his Dorothy-Hamill haircut. He responds to trauma by becoming extremely proactive, which means Davis will start having his hair shaved off any day now. I have threatened to call him “sarge,” but it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. At least the head shaving would ameliorate Big D’s baby mohawk problem (for a deeper discussion of the baby mohawk issue, see Gina Grace’s musings on the matter at http://ginapalooza.blogspot.com).
posted by the stefanie formerly known as stefanierj at 10:38 AM
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