Poor Ryan was always a little klutzy and his non sequitorish attempt at levity probably didn't help the two hour drive home in wet denim all that much, but it was my car, and so I was in the driver's seat (and dry) - I laughed. A lot.
Stacey and I quoted Ryan for years whenever we witnessed a spill. I don't know where Stacey is now and I don't even remember Ryan's last name but whenever I hear Floyd I think, cool! That doesn't belong there!
I heard Shine on you crazy diamond on Thursday and I can't get it out of my head.
The boy, he turned three weeks old yesterday and he's a ferocious beast. He eats like a child twice his age and growls and snorts like a Wild Thing to make Sendak proud and he has remarkable neck strength. He loves tummy time; he loves holding up his head to see the world.
So yesterday I was laying on my back and G was doing his tummy time on my tummy. He was doing his flamingo head-bob thing: up and down and up and down and up and he was grunting his usual grunts and I was smiling at him and cheering him on because the boy that comes after those two girls, he should find his inner ferociousness early and harness it often.
I didn't mind, or course. It was adorable. It was accomplished. It was coordinated. It was delightful, until that one arc where he came down upon me with a mouthful of spit-up.