Chicks Dig the DJ

This Memorial Day weekend, we had chance to hook up with a fair percentage of our friends at Paul and Dom's. While Max rifled through a house-full of wonderful and unfamiliar toys belonging to the boy-in-residence, Remy, we did the requisite grilling and drinking on Paul's new patio.

Actually, if there was ever an argument for the "enticement of the unfamiliar", one could just watch Max disappear into a reverse-coma fog every time he gets access to some other kid's toys. Every time we go his cousin's or a house with a well-toyed young male, Max vanishes into a blissed-out inventory of "all the cool stuff I don't have". He'll silently and methodically empty drawers and boxes, not playing with the stuff but just acknowledging everything: "I don't have this. It's cool." And he sets it aside. He picks up another toy: "I don't have this. It's cool." And so on. Pretty much for as long as you let him.

Miles, though, was the one who was on the ball this afternoon. Even amidst the chaos of playing children and through the haze of an early Summer cold, Miles could spot trouble. It took him a while; she had been there most of the time. But as the smoke from the Weber cleared and someone cleaned up the empties off the table, Miles spotted the indescribably cute, Sophie, chilling on her Mother's lap. With an eloquence and coherence reminiscent of the first time I saw his Mom, Miles stared stunned and mute for a time. Then, identified The Trouble: he pointed, amazed, "Giiirll!" Then, a moment later: "Haiirrr!"