Chivalry is not dead!

As faithful reader readers may remember, Grant was not too fond of adding sister Grace to the mix. He often would pray for her, but then in the next breath say something akin to "I don't want her in my family." He was territorial about toys and parents, and he did not like anyone bringing up the subject of our burgeoning family.

But, all of that changed. I know this is going to sound crazy, but we have Disneyworld to thank for Grant's new found love for his sister. You see, up until our back-to-back Disneyworld/Disneyland adventures, Grant's television viewing included the PBS line-up: Curious George and Clifford the Big Red Dog, to name a few. But, after Disneyworld, we watched Peter Pan, a movie that forever changed the course of Grant's life. I have my issues with Disney movies (a bitter post for another time), and I happen to have real issues with Peter Pan as a heroic character, but that--too--is not the point.

The point is that early in the movie (for those of you who haven't seen it 74 times like I have), Wendy starts to fall from the sky (the "danger ahead" aspect is not found in the toddler PBS genre). And, that moment is when our little hero was born. He snatched her up in his hands, proclaimed to the world that he had saved her, and developed a keen fascination with saving the damsel in distress. We went to the library to find a Peter Pan book, and we read the story again and again and again. But, Grant gravitated to one page: the page with Wendy falling. He'd sit by the page (the book pages had to touch his leg) for hours (not exaggerating); he'd sleep with the book open to that page.

But, then our Disney viewing did not end. Each week we'd go to the library to find another movie, and over the course of the week, we'd watch another film, and if there was someone who needed to be saved, Grant was the man for the job. Now, if a woman is crying in a commercial or a small blond girl starts to cry at the park, Grant transitions into hero mode and trys to swoop in to save the day.

So, tell him that his sister does not have a family and is need of someone to help her, and guess who answered the call?

Grant now spends HOURS a day carrying around these "women" in his hands (let's not visit the potential imagery of trapping these women in some male-dominated hero complex). I like to think that my son is learning that he has a special opportunity to care for, to nurture, and to even protect the women in his life. Now, it's on to opening doors and buying flowers on non-holidays.

Here are just a few of the many pictures we have of Grant protecting Wendy (or Cinderella... or Snow White... or "Anastasia from that evil Rasputin."

Breakfast

Grant's not a big eater, and he almost never eats breakfast (despite my constant attempts to the contrary), so this morning, when he told me he was "really hungry in my belly, Mommy," I thought I would take advantage of the situation.

I offered Grant slices of apple (one of his favorites), which he declined. Instead, he came over to my ear and whispered, "No, Mommy; I want chocolate instead."

That's my boy!

Adoption Talk

Today as we checked out of the grocery store, a conversation started with Grant about Gracie (I was buying diapers for her, so she was on his mind):

Grant: We're going to adopt Gracie.
Me: Yes, you're right. We are going to adopt her. Are you adopted?
Grant: No.
Me: Yes, you are. We didn't have to go to China to get you, but you are adopted too.
Grant: Are we going to adopt Drew Michael (my sister-in-law's soon-to-be son)?
Me: No, Grant. Aunt Rachel and Uncle Troy are going to be Drew Michael's parents.
Grant: Will he come out with clothes on?
Me: No, Grant. He lives in Aunt Rachel's belly, and he's going to come out naked as a jaybird.
Grant: We should buy him some clothes.

Indeed, Grant, we should. It's interesting how Grant continues to grow in his questions about who he is, how he fits into our world, and the genesis of our little family. We just talk about Grant's adoption often, so that when the time comes that the discussion doesn't turn into fashion concerns for the unborn, Grant will be comfortable.

Limestone Heritage Festival Parade

As many of you know, my family on both sides is originally from Bedford, a small town in southern Indiana. The town was once known primarily for its limestone quarries, having provided the stone for many of the buildings in Washington D.C. and New York. Today, the town is probably known more for factory closures and the occasional incineration of a local landmark, but that obviously hasn't damped the spirits of the community. For on each 4th of July, they still have their Limestone Heritage Festival, including a parade, ice cream social, and concert -- this year featuring local jazz favorites, "The Residue."

We'd been to the fireworks and festival previously, but we hadn't gotten a chance to visit the parade. So this year, we braved the foul, rainy weather to see "floats" (usually the bed of a pickup truck) featuring local institutions like this here dumpster truck.

If you have a keen eye, you'll notice the reconditioned Marathon gas station behind the dump truck. It's deceptively simple to turn "Marathon" into "Smoke Shack." Here's a better picture from the start of the parade:

The parade also featured local square dancing troupe, the "Squares and Rounds." They didn't seem the least bit bothered by the rain or the new millenium:


But my favorite part of the parade was the Shriners and their funny little cars. I could watch big men in funny little cars all day.

In all seriousness, we actually had a great time at the parade, despite the constant drizzle. My cousin Mary watched Grant during a large portion of the parade, and now he is completely infatuated with her. I suppose she'll be able to get through high school with the little dude attached to her leg.

Erin and I were talking on the drive home about the things you miss when you don't live in a small town. Our little suburban town used to have an actual "downtown" until CVS and Walgreens decided it would look better with two identical pharmacies rather than the original historic buildings. I realize that people who live in small towns have their issues with them, but for the rest of us, there's something endearing about walking up the block and running into your neighbors while waiting for the town insect fogging truck to go by on the parade route. Perhaps I'll be able to instill a small town sense of community in my kids without actually having to become a square dancer. Time will tell...

Eat the Beater

It's finally cool enough to turn the oven on (when it's over 85, I don't even open the curtains), so we decided to bake some cookies. Grant loves to bake with me, and I love to bake, so we're a good team. Really, Grant just likes to eat brown sugar lumps, scoop flour from the bowl to the floor, and eat the beater at the end of the process, but when you're two, baking shouldn't be about unsalted butter, real vanilla extract, and fluted edges.

The Copier

Last week, my office moved to a new location, and I'm now in a true office environment rather than a lab environment for the first time in my professional career (a career in which I use the word "professional" in the same way the Clippers are a "professional" basketball team).

In fact, my new cube stares directly at one of the two printer/faxer/copier/aggrivator machines in our office. Initially disappointed that I'd have to listen to the beeps and chirps emitted by the copier all day, I positioned my monitor such that I can stare out at the copying world without them realizing I'm reading espn.com at 9am.

What I have quickly discovered is that I actually have the best seat in the house. People behave in extremely bizarre ways when they are outsmarted by a machine, and I can now chronicle these events in this blog while they are actually occurring!

For example, yesterday I watched an individual place a document in the feeder and begin typing on the copier keypad. He was apparently transcribing the first 100 pages of Moby Dick, a beep emitting with each keystroke. After several minutes of typing and staring, he leaned back and confidently slammed the green, backlit "START" button. The machine proceeded to warm-up briefly and then do nothing.

It was brilliant. I couldn't have made the situation any more pleasurable if I myself had been controlling the copier's response. What was even better was that the individual went through the entire process a second time (using the same procedure, no doubt) and got the same result a second time.

Another thing I quickly learned is that copier manufacturers have had to wise up about helping people remove jammed articles from the copier bowels. Our new copier has step by step guides that walk you through what colored lever to pull and which way to turn which knob to get your latest paperwork out during a misfeed.

As I watch people down on all fours trying to follow these instructions, frequently unsuccessfully, I imagine the copier quietly beckoning, "Closer...closer...closer..." before latching onto their victim and hosing them down in toner. Surely I can rig this up...

Care Package

My visa is in process; we've sent in our paperwork, so the next logical step: shopping for the baby girl. We sent miss Gracie MinWei a care package today complete with a photo album of all of us back home, a blanket, the elephant above, all kinds of goodies for her foster family and two disposable cameras (which we hope to get back with pictures)!

I have a few posts in the works about Grant, so stay tuned.