He's a contender. An Oscar contender. For the last couple of months, one of Jeremy's favorite games is crawling behind my racing bike which is perched on a trainer, and carefully settling himself into a contorted position -- the same position every time -- with his right foot extended under the gears and his left foot bent back underneath him, and then, just when he is sure his pose looks distressed, turning his sweet face in my direction and throwing out a half-hearted squawk. By the time I look at him, he is usually smiling, sometimes chuckling, knowing how lame the whole scheme is. And then we both burst out in giggles. From the very first time I caught him doing this, the whole charade has been so calculated, so loony, so vaudeville. It just makes me laugh. Where did this kid get such a sophisticated sense of humor?
Last night, Mama Nay went to a friend's birthday party. I was there for a measely two hours and worried the whole time that the parenting police were going to come arrest me for being so delinquent. Of course, Barb was happily at home with our boy. In fact, she was having a blast. Just before I left, Jeremy and I were watching the digitally remastered Sound of Music (he's loved Do-Re-Mi since he was an infant) and as I got up to leave I mumbled something about Jeremy needing a bath. Turns out that Jeremy marched Barb right into the bathroom and crawled into the tub, clothes and all, clearly comprehending my mumbling. So Barb obliged and (after stripping him) made a him a wonderful bath full of suds. However, instead of languishing in the bath with his toys as he usually does, he apparently stood up after a couple of minutes and climbed out of the tub and marched Barb towards the entertainment system -- naked and dripping -- all so that he could watch The Lonely Goatherd marionettes. Five times!
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