Remember how Micah got me a trapeze lesson for Christmas last year? Well, between my fear of heights and of ladders and of being in high places and of not having my feet on the ground, and the other endeavors of the year, I managed to put it off until today.
But I’m pretty sure no one noticed how scared I was. Nope, not one bit. Not while I was standing on the platform for 3 minutes, holding the trapeze in one hand because I was . . . just showing how long I could hold a trapeze in one hand. Duh. It had nothing to do with me not wanting to let go of the ladder. Nothing at all. And they certainly wouldn’t have seen any fear when I was standing holding the trapeze with both hands while the instructor repeated, “Ready . . . hup!” several times. The “hup” was my cue to jump, but I was . . . creating an aura of suspense for those watching. Was I going to jump? Or wasn’t I? I sure had them guessing!
I finally gave into the instructors instructions and jumped. And then I managed to hook my knees over the trapeze and –gasp! — let go with my hands. I even did a couple of back tucks off the bar. And I didn’t totally blow the catch we did at the end of class. In fact, by the last of my 6 jumps off the platform, I didn’t even feel the need to tease everyone with my guessing games or show them how long I could ignore the instructors pleadings to just jump already. I wouldn’t say I’m ready to run away and join the circus, but I might not be opposed to taking another class someday. As long as Micah does it, too.
ps With the outfit I wore to trapeze class and the one I wore for our Thanksgiving run, I think I’m just about ready to start a fashion consulting business, wouldn’t you say?
The other night at dinner we decided it was high time we chose who will be portraying us in the movie version of our lives. Danica McKellar, Winona Ryder, and Ellen Page were the top picks to play me.
My initial instinct for Micah was Matt Bomer, but then yesterday I realized I had it wrong. And I wondered how I had missed it all these years. Matt Bomer is okay, but the prize, I believe, goes to James Franco. Am I right, or am I right?
We haven’t come up with the right person to play Abby yet, although I’m leaning towards Claire Danes.
Who would you cast as the lead in the story of your life?
The lenses of my glasses got scratched up a few weeks ago. My contacts have never done that well for me. I can’t see and it is driving me crazy. Just thought I would share.
We walked down Eastern Parkway this afternoon. The sky was gray. The leaves were red and yellow and green and orange. Simon pointed out the stripey trees, the bare trees, the trees still full of leaves. Oliver held his head as far back as he could and reached his hands toward the treetops, laughing and smiling and babbling. I took each requested detour, wondered if we were soaking up enough fall to get us through the coming winter, thought about staying out until dark.
As of Wednesday, the boys share a room. Actually, that’s stretching the truth a little bit. As of Wednesday, Oliver’s crib was moved into Simon’s room. The boys were thrilled. Simon loves the crib. He’s fallen asleep in it almost every night since then. Which means we’ve had to move him before we put Oliver in. It’s not always successful. If Simon wakes up, or isn’t quite asleep, he’s inclined to go back in the crib, and despite all of our warnings and pleadings, he’ll often wake Oliver up in the process.
Still, it hasn’t been as awful as I thought it would be. I expected several weeks of one or the other (or both) of them waking up in the middle of the night and spending a lot of time putting kids back to bed when I’d rather be sleeping. It hasn’t quite been that way. Simon did wake up one morning and come into our room asking for breakfast. He hadn’t eaten his dinner the night before, so I was ready to give him some when I checked the time. It was 4:30. And then last night we put Oliver in his crib, asleep, 3 times and 3 times he woke up and started screaming. Simon didn’t stir, but we ended up sleeping with Oliver in our bed anyway.
Children . . . can’t sleep with them, can’t sleep without them.
I know it’s going to be a good story when Simon starts out, “When I was 20 years old . . . “
What could be more frightening than a leaf-throwing topiary and a porcupine that just begs to be squeezed?