Do you ever feel like time just got away from you? No? Yeah, me neither. Never happens.
Okay, so, yes. It often does get away from me. And it did again this time. Two months have somehow passed since I last posted here. Both boys have gotten taller, eaten a metric ton of food, had haircuts, needed another haircut, performed in school programs and finished second grade (William) and three-year-old preschool (Andrew).
William also performed in a piano recital (quite admirably, I might note, and he didn't even use any music, unlike every other kid there), and we all attended his Cub Scout Packnic when he was promoted from a Wolf Scout to a Bear Scout. Both kids finished up their soccer seasons. There's been some day camps in there, we've been to the pool and various playgrounds, and last week, we even went to Memphis for the day.
We were busy, to put it mildly.
What else can I tell you?
William has finished reading Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson series, as well as The Lost Heroes of Olympus series, and now he is deeply immersed in the 39 Clues series. He loves the show "Cosmos," and David has successfully converted him into a Doctor Who fan. He's still taking piano lessons, and he's writing his own piece of music. It's, um, interesting. (However, he knows exactly what he wants to do, and the fact that he understands how to go about doing that actually is impressive.)
Andrew is obsessed with maps. Every time he goes to the Y or preschool or anywhere with paper and crayons, he draws a map. Sometimes it's a treasure map. Sometimes it's a map of Nashville. Sometimes it's a map of our neighborhood. They all look sort of the same, except for the colors, but he is confident that he has managed to capture the essence of whichever place he's drawing. He always knows exactly where X should mark the spot and where he is. "Look!" he crows, displaying his artwork in front of him as if it was the original copy of the Declaration of Independence. "I made a map!!" And I agree that it is a marvelous map, and he is deeply satisfied.
They both talk incessantly, and they both ask lots of questions. Often at the same time.
Sometimes their questions make me sit back in my chair and exhale with wonder. This morning, on the way to Westminster, Andrew asked, "So it's nighttime in heaven right now, isn't it?" as if heaven was Australia on the other side of the globe. "Hmm," I said, forgetting to change lanes. "Maybe it is." I don't know where he got that, but I kind of like it. William then chimed in, "It's probably whatever you want it to be." I like that, too. Those moments when suddenly I am challenged to stop thinking linearly are sort of magic. They shimmer there in front of me like a soap bubble, and I think, "I must remember this."