We took advantage of a cooler summer evening to plop the mancub in his stroller and travel the new bike path. The relative quiet gave us a chance to unpack some tensions before a late supper. While Your Organized Sister has managed to keep pace with her teacher workshop material and steer a new AP teacher through the pre-semester jitters, she's still locked in a house with a sporadic eating machine. She gets frayed. And it cycles through me and back to her, and we need to clear the air sometimes. We got that last night. All is good.
She did admit as we collapsed into bed that she hasn't yet told the boy she loves him. She said this with some concern, and I assured her that he has yet to earn it. I was slightly joking. We, of course, still beleive in this experiment, and in many ways he is only a catalyst. We react to what he does, try to find a pattern, and establish schemes to turn off the crying alarm. She has a greater degree of exposure, and she develops the routines, and I maintain them as best I can.
Regardless of the traces of personality we see, he's still a cypher. He speaks a different language. He has no common experience to share. He is need manifest. We can only respond and placate. In other words, there's not a lot to love about this guy yet. We'll get there when he can bring more to the party. We serve parental duties, but I don't feel like a parent yet. A janitor, perhaps.
His gooey eye remains so, and I learned this weekend I had the exact same problem as a baby.
In other news, the school carpentry teacher came by the house. We asked him a few months back about using his students to rebuild our deck. He said it would be no problem. His kids need something to make between housing projects. They'd also like to build a new workshed if we're happy with the deck. Hopefully, this can be done before the annual jack o'lantern party.
Picture of the Day
See, I'm thinking only people who do have dinosaurs need a sign saying so.