Monday, August 23, 2004

Reality barks - I'm the one who bites.

Today was Alex's first real experience with grass. No, no, not the illegal narcotic substance, but actual grass. Green, lush, lawnery (is that a word?)
Kelly and I were lazy most of the day and decidedly so. We marched out to the front yard (the back yard was a swamp after yesterday's glorious storm), blankets, pillows, and good books in hand. It was 2:30 PM and the sun was still high, as high as our spirits even. We were determined to spend the afternoon reading and working on our quickly fading tans.

*sidenote* Kelly and I seem to think that we will manage to achieve great success in the department of tanning despite our refusal to actually remove any clothing. The activity of tanning SELDOM involves a swimsuit where Kelly and I are concerned. Nay, the swimsuit is often ignored and over it is preferred a skirt or even loose fitting pajama pants, a tank top, and a pair of sunglasses. We will defy the principles of basic tanning and walk away shiny and bronze just the same. We've managed thus far, I'm fairly certain we can manage even farther. *end sidenote*

My recent mental block against reading kicked in after about 20 pages and I fell asleep with my book on my face and was promptly met with bizarre thoughts of crazed hula dancers sweating to the oldies (dreams are funny things, are they not?)
Kelly fared far better in the reading department and managed to finish an entire novella.
I awoke 2 and a half hours later with not much of a tan line, but to magnificent lines created by the sun. The spectacular fireball was low enough to begin casting shadows our way. Everything looked a little more curious than it had in full on day light. It made me want to start taking pictures. Perfect lighting for pictures, it was.
Cristina brought Alex out into the yard as he had just awoken from his afternoon nap.
His eyes appeared still slightly tired as she put him down on my blanket wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants, his diaper causing his bum to portrude out in the most adorable and appealing rotundra. He was happy to be outside with us. Happy to be alive, in fact. And, I'm sure, happy that the sun was casting shadows because, well, let's be honest - who wouldn't be?

Seeing as how crawling is a recently learned skill of his, Alex was a bit skeptical with his new found liberties. He was completely capable of crawling off the blanket out into the grass... but did he WANT to? He put out his feelers a few times, almost venturing out into the great unknown, but then quickly changing his mind. The grass was too prickly. Too cumbersome. Oh, it was a glorious shade of green, but there was just too much going on that he was unsure of. Carter wandered out of his reach to the far corners of the earth, or, seemingly so if you are 11 months old and not 100% certain that you wish to venture five feet away, across the grassy vast of bug and mud ridden lawn.
But Carter was there. The dog, which he loves so much, has become his new motivation. He rocks back and forth cautiously one or two times and leans forward from his sitting position so that his hands land him in an "all fours" position, revved and ready for crawling.
One hand moves forward, ignoring the pricklyness of the grass, and then the other. Oh, this boy is brave. His face winces slightly as he feels the vegetable daggers poke at his plentiful baby leg. The other leg moves to follow but then hesitates, and stops. He rocks forward, his lips portruding into a definite pout, and then he backtracks to the blanket, safe, whole, comfortable. Carter is still an eternity away, but the grass is no longer a mystery. He knows what that mess is all about. And the dog can come to him from now on.

My motivations have weakened slightly over the past two years. I fear not the grass, but things that are equally ridiculous I suppose. And I fear hypocricy - that thing that I've always loathed. If it gets the better of me, I will be worse than horrid; I will be mediocre, which is far worse.
What is wrong with being extraordinary? Or with being average? Or with being extraordinarily average?

** I'm trouble everywhere I go, but unseemingly so. I stare with great mishief. Isn't it grand? I love to get into conversations with political people who expect a dissertation on the importance of government reform only to announce that I hate discussing politics and wish only to leave the political world forever and be completely engrossed in art school... I value shock value. I keep growing my hair just to cut it and for this very reason.
And for this very reason I might just quit my job, sell all my belongings, become a nun, and move overseas to run a mission in tibet.

I don't hate many things, but I hate melted chapstik. And I hate feathers that wander from the confines of my featherbed and poke into my back. And I hate lower back pain. And I hate this blog, for real.

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