Shooting the moon

We walked downtown and looked at motorcycles, hipsters with ugly dogs, a couple walking so slowly arm-in-arm that I wondered whether someone they knew died. Luke waved to a tow truck driving by and an ambulance that honked its way down Main Street. We both waved to cute passing babies.

His hair needs to be cut, and it lifted and flapped in the wind.

I wasn't wearing a jacket. Or socks.

Winter is over, and things have changed. New stores have sprouted in downtown. It looked like the entire place had a fresh coat of paint.

We picked up dinner, walked home. Ate and went back outside, wasting as little time as possible. We walked to a field next to the train tracks and waited for the Amtrak to go rumbling by. We waved again. Then watched as the trains tail lights floated into the trees.

On the way back, Luke spotted airplanes and pointed, leaning his head back as far as he could. Then he caught sight of  the moon, just a thin sliver tonight. "Moooooon," he said. I didn't know he knew that word. "Yes, I said," that's the moon. See how high up it is?" I set him in the front yard, and he strained onto his tiptoes to point. "Moooooon! Moon, moon, moon!" Two teenage girls walked by, on their way to the tennis court. Luke looked at them and puffed out his little chest and yelled, "MOOOOON! Moon, moon, moon!"

The light was fading. We had to go inside soon. But for a moment, I just stood there and reveled in a happiness that's only possible on a beautiful evening, when your child is small and so enamored with a celestial body he's willing to dance in the front yard yelling its name, straining on his tip-toes, trying to pull it straight out of the sky.

Hey, it counts!

So technically, I had breakfast out with friends on Saturday. The key word being "I." They, my two lovely friends Kelly and Jen, just had coffee, those skinny bitches. I had a gingerbread waffle with apples and cinnamon. We sat in a massive booth. We talked about Kelly's upcoming wedding and sewing machines. So I ate and they didn't, but this counts for me as my monthly breakfast out with friends!

After breakfast, I went back to Jen's apartment after picking up Luke and my bag-o-fabric. We had a sewing summit, in which we did not even complete one stitch. Too busy gabbing about everything in our lives. Then we made a delicious whole wheat pizza. It was divine.

Later, I crumbled and bought a sewing machine. Let the crafting commence!

Luke and Jimmy are dancing in the family room right now to Robert Randolph's "I Need More Love."

The sun is shining.

I've had two cups of coffee.

I love the weekend.

Crayons

Luke has a new favorite hiding space.

I caught him red (and orange and black and white and green) handed!

Such a cute little troublemaker. 

I can't see you Mama! I'm hiding!

Yes, that's a crayon mark on his face. I'm pretty sure he still has use of both eyes.

I do, too.

And if you're wondering (like Luke obviously was), yes, crayons do work on windows!

A time out for moi

I'm not going to post about my 20 little things today. Besides saying one thing -- I need to do better with all of them, especially my daily ones like drinking more water, setting aside 30 minutes for prayer, working out at 6 a.m. I'm struggling now in a sea of busyness. Some of which I bring upon myself.

Case in point: I took my little Elmo-crazed 18-month-old to see Sesame Street Live this morning. Quite the impulse move. Looking for tickets yesterday, I threw in today's date, thinking what the heck. I asked for the best seats, just to see what would come up. And what did but the front row! The price was higher than I wanted to pay. But I began daydreaming about holding Luke in my lap, his favorite characters dancing right in front of us. Sold.

It was so neat. The Fox Theatre in downtown Detroit is stunning, so stunning that it knocks me over every time I step inside. I urged Luke to look up! up! up! at the immense ceilings, the ornate trimmings, the gold, the blue, the carvings. He did! He gazed up with me. I set him down and let him roam a little. Seeing him, so small in this enormous place, he was like a weensy little speck. My speck.

We had time to kill. I didn't want to sit until close to showtime. We looked at the merchandise booth, where Luke's eyes lit up at all the Elmo possibilities. Shirts, dolls, flags, hats, and a ball. He crowded in to point at them with the other little kids. Me, being a schmuck who's not opposed to economic stimulation, whipped out my wallet to get him the ball. It was just too cute.

He hugged that ball the rest of the morning. We sat with about seven minutes to show time, and our seats were on the aisle in the front row center. I don't know if I've ever sat in the front row at anything before! I whispered to Luke that soon Elmo would be dancing and singing right in front of us. He gazed at the stage in awe.

The show was 90 minutes, with one intermission. Luke did well the entire time. Ten minutes in he asked for snacks, so we dug those out of my purse and ate while we watched the life-sized Muppets boogie. He clapped after each song, somehow holding onto the ball at the same time. At the very end, he started to wear out. He wanted down. I gathered our things, thinking we might need to bail, but he settled down just in time for the end, when confetti and streamers shot out from the corners of the stage toward the middle of the audience. Given our seat location, we were in the direct line of fire, and the bulk of the streamers landed directly on us. I thought this was a hoot. Luke did not agree. He started to cry.

So, we left with some tears running down Luke's face. But as we walked up the aisle, he recovered enough to look over my shoulder and wave bye-bye to Elmo.

When we got home, I asked him to tell Da-da who he saw. He looked at me like I was crazy. Totally blank.

"He's forgotten already," I said.
"Uh-huh," said my husband, who thought it was silly of me to take him.

He might have forgotten. But I know the memory of him in my lap, his little head right under my chin, his face gazing up at the music and lights, that's something I won't forget that for a good long while.