Snow White

I type and I watch. I'm catching out of the corner of my eye these mad dudes with their flying, flashing ski's willingly flip, well - fling themselves miles into the air and flip flop fall and float (but mostly flip) into the relative safety of the snow that sometimes catches and sometimes kick back with a splash of white and whatev's. All I can say is WHOA dude. These guys are awesome.

What inspired that? Were they like six years old and racing a car around the Berber carpet in 1994 and  looked up at the flickering coverage of the Olympics coming to them from Norway and saw these nutty dudes flipping through the air and then turn to their mom's with big round eyes and matchbox car mid-track and point their little stubby fingers at the screen and say - "Yes, I will do that. It will be rad and I will wear shiny colorful spandex and I will win."

photo credit: Mike Groll AP/File

Don't you wonder? As I watched the other jumping event tonight - the ski jump - with the dudes that fly for like 30 gorgeous heartdropping seconds I got totally annoyed with my 10 month old son as I projected into the relative near future when lil BHB and I will likely have this conversation....

INT: OUR HOUSE - NIGHT

An adorable 4 year old BOY pushes a monster truck around the hardwood floors as his MOM and DAD watch slack-jawed as the Olympic aerialists flip fourteen times before landing on the fake snow.                        

His Mom is extremely hot and looks amazing in casual sweats. She is a very thin and young-looking 43 year old...(oh rats, sorry - went off into fantasy there) Ahem. The sweet boy looks up at the giant plasma TV that is uber fancy and wafer thin...

BHB 

Look Mom! I can do that!

ME

Nope. No way. Forget it.

BHB

But Mooommmmmm.

ME

Sorry.

BHB

(looking offscreen with intense resolve) 

I will wear flashy spandex, and I will win.

ME

Noo! I love your big head!

 I don't want you to break it on that mean snow.  

Curse you inspiring dudes who flip through the 

air with the greatest of ease!

Sigh. I guess we're not going to be watching the next Winter Olympics.

With love from the future,




PS - Ok, I realize that reading the above is like watching reality tv when a really great drama is on the other channel. It's on the silly, fluffy and pointless side but thanks for coming by...

Now if you want to read something really heartfelt and poetic and filled with awesomeness, you should go here. The writer is a dear friend, filmmaker, writer, and mom of an amaaaazing kid. I met her in line at Sundance a bunch of years ago. She's just fantastic! But I digress. But yes, you should definitely check this post out (whut up double link!) And be sure to play the music, it's a wonderful good time.

Missing

Oh hi.

I've been remiss and missing from this space and let me apologize in advance for apologizing because it's kind of ridiculous. I mean. Y'all aren't sitting next to your google readers tapping your foot and wondering where I am, right? No. I know that. I so often feel this delightful and delicious tingly pull in this direction, oh - OK, nightly. More often than not I resist the urge, close the computer and go to bed.

Because right now it's either LCD and all the fun I have up here yammering on about my THOUGHTS and FEELINGS and occasionally an IMPRESSION and maybe even an occasional OBSERVATION.

Or sleep.

And as you Momma's know, sleep is a nice thing. And clearly it's been winning.

During the day it's chasing tiny boy and making sure brown dog stays clear of tiny boy and his tiny hands and his new teeth and charming smile so that brown dog doesn't do some dastardly doggie thing like nip at the mischievous tiny he tries to grab tall soft, brown ears.

And mushing the food or heating up the mush or steaming the finger food or mixing the stuff or making sure there are enough cheerios on the tray. And watching those impossibly tiny fingers PICK UP the tiny bits of carrots or pears or apples or o's or yam bits. And occasionally drop the bits for the brown nose to scoop in and enjoy. That game hasn't become a full time pastime but I expect that it is coming soon.

And the toys and the books and soft green ball that pile out of the little faux leather chest in the morning and then pile back into that same little brown chest at night.

And then there are all of those tiny shirts, the ones with the stripes and the tiny dogs on the front or the soft pants and the socks that are too small when you buy them and the shoes, why doesn't he have any shoes, what the heck size is he? And the hand-me-downs thank god for those but then you've got to hand them back and what box and which mom goes to which baby is going to wear it next. In the meantime they've got to be washed. And folded. And put away. And coaxed over a big head.

And at night it's a mix of emailing and emailing and working and conference calls and trying to think clear, concise and meaningful and oh dinner and right now of course the olympics (oh crap I missed it tonight) but we need to do a re-write of the script and we are casting later this week and I have to go location scout, but I'll be doing that while he naps in the car and and and.

I guess it's obvious why sleep is winning.

But for what it's worth I am writing into this white box in my head all day. The sweet bits of floating observations like the backlight of the afternoon sun, a halo on his sweet blonde head. Or his smile of discovery at a new thing (a bird!) which he now shares with me in his eyes, the recognition in his eyes of me - and - of a thing - and - of the separation of him and me and thing and then his delight in it or me or him or frustration when something is awry. Then comes my scramble to discover what IT is although sometimes if I have had enough sleep I might just sit in (or next to) his frustration and let him BE without fixing it.

And that's a pretty good reason, right?

Floating in the joy bits,



P.S.  - One of these Monday's I'll get to writing about An Education. Short review: Hell ya, see it.