Pink Asparagus

It was so sunny at the wedding this weekend that even Elliot knew he needed a hat. The only one available was a pink check bucket hat. He wore it well.

Two weeks ago the kids were invited to a pirate themed birthday party. Amy and I got together the day before to lunch and sew. We knocked out two pairs of shorts, two skirts and two shirts in a few hours. Without tears and I only had to rip out a few seams.

I would show you her kids too but I managed to lose pictures when copying them to the NAS. I’m bummed. I had all sorts of cute kid pictures. I suppose it’s a little like the  olden days when a roll of film would get lost.

Argh.

Anyway, here’s Elliot in his HAND MADE pirate outfit. He’ll be wearing the pants/shorts for years to come. The shirt is embellished with an iron-on. Audrey (not pictured) didn’t want to be a pirate, so I convinced her to be a pirate princess. She wore a tightly fitted (read: too small) tank made of pink pirate themed material, a pink tutu and a hot pink bandanna on her head. The tutu was made on a ribbon and is wrap-around, it’ll provide lots of dress-up fun for some time.

In conclusion: Amy and I rock the sewing machine. Checkout her other projects.

The tooth fairy will be visiting us tonight.

For months Elliot has lamented the losing of teeth. When will he lose them? Will he be 5? 6? Will it hurt? Will it take long? When will it start?

It started.

Tonight at dinner he says that his tooth hurts. So, I reach across the table fully explecting to pull corn kernal out from between his teeth.

His tooth wiggled.

I wiggled it again.

My eyes welled up.

When I told him what was happening a huge grin spread across his face.

Here’s Elliot, in what might be the last photographic evidence of this particular smile. An all-baby tooth smile.

Poor kid came home early from school today because he was sick. Sick enough that he wanted to lay down and rest. Sick enough that we went to the doctor. Strep. Totally should have bought that stock in whoever makes amoxycilin six years ago.

After Elliot was born a nurse who hadn’t yet met us walks into my room, looks at Elliot, looks at Peter and says, “Well, we know who daddy is.” At the time I was all “heh, yes my baby is as gorgeous as my husband.” Now that it’s almost six years later I like to retell the story more as “uhm, yes – the baby that was removed from the giant gash in my abdomen does have a striking resemblance to the man sitting over there.”

Peter’s mother tells a story that when he was little he could charm all the elderly church ladies out of their purse candy. He’d bat his long eyelashes and stare with a face that I assume looked a lot like this:

When Elliot was a toddler I took him to urgent care for what turned out to be another ear infection. He was as adorable as possible, chatting up the doctor. She looked right into his big blue eyes and said, “you are handsome.” Then she looked at me and said, “good luck.”

This son of mine? I think he’ll be a heart breaker. But of the quiet kind. I think he’ll be too busy presiding over Chess tournaments to notice girls. They’ll just have to suffer in silence. Swoon over those eye lashes of his. Write his name with swirlies and hearts on their notebooks. And if he really is like his dad, I don’t think he’ll have any idea.