Number Eighty

In case you were expecting something profound having to do with the number 80, I'll let you know right now--this is my 80th post. When I first started blogging, I couldn't imagine that I'd have enough things to say to warrant that much writing. It turns out Wiggle Man always has plenty of new material.

Like how the other day, as I was getting ready to play in a recital. I'm a flutist, and I find that I need a good hour warming up on the instrument before I sound ok enough to perform. (This is my post-college warm-up. Back in the days of playing all day every day, I naturally required much less warm-up time.)

About half-way through my marathon warm up, Hubba Hubba walked in the room, carrying our son. He looked at me and said, "I think he's doing you." I didn't get what he was saying at first, until I realised Wiggle Man had a rubber stick in his mouth transversely, like you'd hold a flute. Apparently he'd been walking around like that, holding it like I hold my flute, and humming.

I'm a strong advocate for boys playing the flute. It's a great way for them to meet girls. Although, I still want him to learn the cello. Or at least go to enough Suzuki classes when he's 3 so that I can get adorable pictures of him playing his mini-cello.

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This morning I'm off for a dress fitting. Nothing like someone else measuring and analysing your body to lift the spirits.

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We're still waiting for paperwork from Kenya. The only new thing to report is that now they're saying they've emailed it. We still don't have it, of course. At least, not that anyone's told us.

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Since I can smell my son from where I sit, it's probably time to go change him.