Hardee’s has brought back their chili cheese fries. Someone notify NASA that they’re going to have to recalibrate their instruments soon, as my ass expands to the point of destabilizing the earth’s orbit.
Joy!
Well, he didn’t actually cross the road. But he was trying. I noticed him near the white line on the shoulder as I was passing with my youngest son. I made some noise of dismay, and my son asked what was wrong.
“Turtle about to get run over,” I told him, pulling in to a gas station to turn around.
“Where are we going?”
“Going back to get the turtle before he gets squished.”
We parked in a lot near the point I’d seen him, and retraced our route. My son spotted him by the side of the road. The turtle eyed us suspiciously as we approached and tried to run for it, but turtles are not good sprinters. I nabbed him easily and we carried him back to the car.
My son held him as we drove the rest of the way home. The turtle didn’t seem too panic-stricken by this turn of events, and didn’t retreat into his shell. He sat quietly in my son’s hands, occasionally paddling his feet experimentally and making my son giggle.
Once we got home we brought in in the house for a minute to show The Artist. We put him down on the carpet so he could pose for his photograph. Okay, he wasn’t really posing so much as giving us the hairy eyeball and daring us to put an appendage within reach of his mouth.
I’ve mentioned before that my oldest son has really become more aware and responsible in the last year or so. As an example, when Hanna was expected to make a showing, I had him help me carry the heavier lawn furniture into the back yard shed. We got most of it in, but then I was stumped about how to fit the big rocker chair in with everything else.
A few years ago, The Artist would have been wandering around the yard, waiting for me to figure it out and call him back to help. Now, he was paying attention to what we were doing so he could help as much as possible without being instructed. When I said I thought we’d have to leave the rocker on the porch after all, he suggested “We could stand it on end.” We stood it on end, and were able to get it into the shed.
Last year he got held back in the 11th grade, due to poor performance in a couple of classes. Over the summer he re-took the 11th grade English class (and got an A). He started this high school year as a junior, but he noticed—he noticed—that he was taking 12th grade English and Algebra. And he took the initiative in finding out why he was in the 11th grade if he was taking 12th grade classes, finding out that he was only lacking one course to be a senior, and arranging to take that course online this semester so that he can be classified as a senior and graduate next spring. By the time I found out about it, it was already taken care of.
I can’t begin to express how tickled I am that he’s taking charge like this. It’s going to be so exciting to see what he decides to do with his life.