Depending on whom you talk to, the Chinese lunar year has passed into the Year of the Pig, or the Boar. (Either way, I just know I'll spend the next few weeks writing "Fire Dog" on all my checks. Ha! Does that joke ever get old? Or was it ever funny? Discuss.)
The four of us were invited to what I'm sure was a kick-ass Chinese New Year party, complete with on-site child care. But when it was time to head out, we took stock of the situation: TwoBert was cranky; the freezing wind was blowing people's parkas off; and Robert was transfixed by the Daytona 500. So mama was despatched as our official emissary, and the rest of us hunkered down for an evening of man-centric belly-scratching.
We made the right choice, too, because even though Robert soon realized most real racing is a lot duller than in the movies, we were treated to lots of wrecks and burning cars and a tight finish. For the next hour, Matchbox cars flew around the apartment higgledy-piggledy.
The boys are in a real drawing phase right now -- according to Robert, anyway, who found some markers that I had stashed away for his birthday. When I said I wanted to give them to him at his party, he was indignant. "But I'm in a real drawing phase right now, and when I'm five I won't want them anymore!" The artwork below is about what you'd expect when car-craziness is your muse.
This is Frowny, a high-speed racer that we're going to use on his birthday invitations. He drew about 10 others, each with a vibrant color scheme and a flounder-shaped chassis, but this one's my favorite:
Later we pulled out the Legos, and Robert told me he wanted to make Lightning McQueen. So he hoarded up every red brick he could find and set to work, while I worked with whatever was left. About half an hour later he showed me this, which I swear has not been re-shaped or re-buttressed by adult hands:
I'm still a bit slack-jawed.