"This is the business we chose."
Photo taken of the desk Matt Miller (Movie Nut/Art Director/Hand Model).
This relic is tucked away under our stairwell in the entry way to engineering. I don't believe it has been used since we moved into this building. We're thinking about giving it a ring, just to watch the dust fly off.
I take a random photo at Klipsch every day.
These Austin Powers characters are housed in the office of a prominent long-time Klipsch employee, who shall remain nameless, for now! He does do a great Dr. Evil...
Steven is the most independent kid in the world. I mean that sincerely. He wants help with NOTHING, until it becomes perfectly clear after 3 hours or so that he simply cannot do something by himself (favorite phrase: "I DO IT!").
Walking down the stairs is certainly no exception. Since the ones in my house are hardwood with a ceramic tile landing, however, I'm hesitant to let him go it alone. Especially since he refuses to think the railing might actually help with his stability.
So yesterday morning, I took my usual place in front of Steven going down the stairs, and to my surprise, I hear him say "Mommy, I want to hold your hand." Aww. I gladly obliged.
Then, after a few steps, he says, "Mommy, you are soooo beautiful."
Now, I really don't care if that's something he heard from a movie, or something my daycare provider taught him, or if he actually made the connection between his birthday is coming up and how saying that could have an effect on his loot... It just doesn't matter.
I should've done this kid thing years ago.
So the Indiana State Fair ended yesterday. All I have to say is THANK GOD. I could usually care less...I mean, I like going to the fair and all, if for nothing else but the digustingly yummy food, but the dern Fair Train rumbles right past my neighborhood. And again, I could usually care less, after all, I grew up right next to a train track and used to love hearing the trains roll by. But that was all before I had a (soon-to-be) 3 year old.
Last year, Steven didn't mind the train at all, which thankfully only runs for the week and a half during the fair. Every time the whistle blew, he'd stop whatever he was doing, pop his head up and look at me with a perfectly formed "O" mouth....a la Eddie Murphy in Mr Robinson's neighborhood...and that would be it. But this year was different. If we were outside when that whistle blew, utter panic would ensue. He could not run in the house fast enough, yelling "come on Mommy, come on Mommy!!"...as if the train was going to rumble right up our driveway and mow him down in his tracks.
And it only got worse at night. When Steven heard the whistle, you'd think monsters were crawling out from under his bed and grabbing his ankles. I'd sit with him until the Evil Fair Train "went to bed," and eventually, he'd believe me that it was really done for the night and then could release me to go to bed. I tried everything to convince him that the fair train was a nice train, "like Thomas!", but most people know there is no convincing a toddler of anything rational.
But even more irrational, through all this terror, Steven kept insisting that he wanted to ride on the fair train. He didn't want to see it or hear it, but by gum, he wanted to ride it. So, I thought I'd test him on the last day of the fair. We were going to march up to that station and put his money where his mouth is. I was fully expecting to simply turn around and go home, and he would quit bothering me about wanting to ride the train.
Low and behold, he not only marched right up the stairs of that train (even while the whistle was blowing loud enough to wake up Terre Haute), but he rode on that train like a champ--waving at everything along the way.
I thought, "Hooray! He's over his Fair Train fear! I did it! I'm Supermom!"....but the second we got home from the fair and opened up our car doors, the train was departing from the station and of course blowing its obnoxious whistle, and YEP, Steven was LAUNCHING out of his car seat and into the house, his little legs looking like Road Runner blur, screaming "come on Mommy, come on Mommy!!!"
I'm just going to stop trying to figure it out. Until next year.