Buckaroo has decided he is a walking aficionado, tackling every hill and stair with bravado. I'm not sure how he manages to survive. He prefers to walk the stairs solo now, and he also likes to stand as close to our beach mini-cliff as he can and throw rocks into the water. He really does look like Mr. Magoo, swaggering and swaying and nearly falling over every edge, but then catching himself at the last minute, completely unaware that he has avoided injury. He just needs the glasses. Luckily, I've taught him to put on my sunglasses, shake his head, and say, "Who loves ya baby?" in a deep, bluesy voice-- ok, I actually do the speaking, but I know he'll say it eventually-- and with glasses he really does look just like the Magooster.
Big news for Obo! He's decided to be support staff for the high school marching band. Tomorrow he's having ice cream with Band Girl who is a senior and excited to tell him all about it-- according to her mother, who happens to be a doula and is excited to tell me all about the volunteer doula program at the hospital. And I thought my doula days were over!
Then, next week, Obo flies to England while R and Sweet Potato head the other direction to Smoky Cali. Buckaroo and I will be braving the wilderness alone for three weeks, and I'm really hoping not to spot a bear while they're gone.
So, here's a funny thing I learned today. R and I were driving to Lowe's to buy an under the counter garbage can thingy, and there was a whole radio program about the Massachusetts accent. Apparently, people in Western Mass don't believe they have an accent at all and that it's only Bostonians who have the accent. I've probably been offending people left and right with my accent comments. Then, the dialect varies depending on where in Boston folks originate. The radio guy gave examples, but I couldn't hear the difference. Also, nobody in all of Massachusetts speaks like John F. Kennedy because he made up his own accent with a speech teacher. Who knew? Well, speech professionals, I guess, that's who.
And-- all so interesting-- some Bostonians pronounce the H in the letter H (heych), just like they do in Ireland. R picked up his heych in England, though, and he refuses to let it go, but at least now it goes along with the rest of his misplaced Rs-- which makes R a very good initial for him.
Our FMF are Irish, and when we toasted with our beers last night, he said, "Slainte" (pronounced slan-cha) and said it was a Gaelic cheers. I was so excited because I have two bags by Slainte, but I never knew how to pronounce it, or even what it meant for that matter. I probably could have asked my friend Peter if I'd thought about it. He's always excited to talk about those Gaelic words.
So, yes, I have a baby with possibly the most Irish name ever, and I don't know how to speak Gaelic. I realized that's ok, though, because my Nana Ivy was a McAdoo, and that almost sounds like Mr. Magoo.