Max and Miles who, to Me, Will Always be Secretly Named "Gus"

The blog about Max and his little brother, Miles. Stunningly cute boys and future leaders of the rebel forces.

Thursday, July 30, 2009


Continuing in our series of "People We Love", we recently had the pleasure of hosting, for one sweet evening, our super-awesome friend, Amanda, who was passing through on a cross-country road trip with her dad (who, admittedly, we may now like more than even the fabulous Amanda).

I had assumed that the boys, having spent most of their lives around their spectacularly beautiful and tantalizingly intelligent mother, would be, at least, politely interested or, at worst, dismissively unimpressed by the amazing Amanda. I pictured something along the lines of: "Oh, hello clever and attractive person. Have you met our equally glorious Mother? She is also quite frequently pithy." Or: "Augh! another hilarious, confident woman?! How many of these are there?!"

I suppose, had I thought about it for two seconds, I'd've seen what was coming. Yep, as has happened to other males throughout history, when exposed to something or someone inexplicable and fascinating, their brains and composure peed promptly into their diapers. Max began by trying to impress Amanda with some Krazy Karate moves. When that didn't work, he spit carrots on her. (That earned an over-my-shoulder-while-Max-screamed trip to his room.) Miles. Well, Miles, to his credit, did try to play it cool. He appeared pretty chill, there, in his high chair. Belying this exterior calmness, however, was the fact that all the food heading towards his face kept missing his mouth. He'd lift a handful of spaghetti, get lost in Amanda's eyes, it would land on his forehead and roll down his cheeks. Though, I do have to say: I've been on dates -- especially early ones with Katie -- when this came off as charming.

As evidenced by the photo, the real trouble started once our guests moved on down road. Miles, in his dismay, began some bizarre ritual of toddler keening and basically ran around the yard dumping everything he could grab into his hair; then smearing it all over his body.

Amanda and her super-cool dad drove off, blissfully unaware of the anguish (and traumatic hair-washing) they left in their wake. They're welcome back anytime, though. Amanda's dad can help me polish my wizened, bemused dad-face and, with enough exposure to Amanda, the boys might be able to get food in their mouths on their first dates.


Blogger Robin Dreyer said...

Maybe you and Amanda are just providing them with important training for their teenage years.

9:06 AM  

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