Dimples learned to ride a bike, sans-training wheels, recently. We were “Up North,” and he just hopped on this old Schwinn, the same one that his dad and aunts and uncles and older cousins learned on, and rode. There was no drama, no pressure, no worry. He just did it, and that was that.
His determination was unbelievable. I literally could not believe how long he rode around and around and around the yard. I thought his quads would fall right off! We were so proud, that it almost seemed inappropriate. I mean, he hadn’t discovered the cure for cancer or scaled Mount Everest or invented the time machine. But the actual mastered skill had nothing to do with it. It was his self-pride that somehow I felt too, the knowledge that he had chosen to push aside his fear and pull a Nike.

But it’s not like …he doesn’t need me …’n stuff. Just because he can ride a bike, and is going to Kindergarten in 2.5 days, and…

I think I’d better have another baby.

This stupid little picture was taken on the shore of Lake Michigan, during a walk with my family. It was a gorgeous day, a gorgeous moment, and I was feeling all smug and fabulous and wonderful and deep and spiritual. But I was disappointed when I saw the photo. It wasn’t at all the overwhelmingly beautiful thing I expected it to be. It’s just sort of …ho-hum. Which is why I think it is perfect for this quote: all the drama of the build-up, then at the end, my stupid little life, that I find fabulous and wonderful and spiritual all the same.

No photo today. Tomorrow, I promise. For today, just two completely unrelated FYIs:

1. Belle was in the doctor’s office yesterday with symptoms of what I thought was a recurrence of the Rheumatic Fever incident of two years ago. She was afraid, but brave, especially after I bribed her (whoops!) with a brand new DS game for the blood draw. Luckily everything is fine, and I am happily wearing the dunce cap. Or, the neurotic mother cap, which does not fit me well at all. She is feeling OK today, and I think we are returning to normal around here–or at least, as close to normal as we ever were.

2. I’ve got a project waiting backstage, about to burst into the spotlight of my crazy mind. I can feel it coming, the mania… And I will be needing models. Moms, to be specific. Please send me an email if you’re a willing victim consenting volunteer. Some of you, my dear friends, will be victims models whether or not you consent, fyi. But I’d really love to have all sorts of volunteers, please? Don’t make me beg.