Hudson's heart

A couple of years ago, Hudson got to choose something from the gift shop at the Natural Science museum. I can't remember what he'd done to earn this special treat. I believe his maximum price point was a whopping $3. He chose this:
A red, polished stone, cut into a heart. He loved it and carried it in his pocket at all times, thus requiring that he always have pockets, which I remember caused a couple of petulant moments when, inevitably, all of his cargo shorts were in the hamper. I remember fearing that he would lose his heart and of course, after a couple of months, he did. Harper never loses anything because she is one of those kids who knows where every single tidbit is at all times. I will say, "I wonder where the tiny piece of Lego that connects the scoop to the backhoe is?" and she will chirp, "It's in the bottom of the striped bin, under the 'pig' rhyming card, next to the headless Polly Pocket in the back of my closet." It's eerie, but rather useful. She did not, sadly, have sufficient sonar to detect the heart because it did not belong to her. So, it remained lost. At first, Hudson would ask about it daily, and sometimes hourly: "Mommy, where is my heart?" and I would say, "I just don't know Hudson. Can't you remember?" No, he could not. We hunted for weeks and finally gave up. After many months, he finally stopped asking if I knew where his heart was.

Then LO, to celebrate our country's independence, guess what I found while digging for something behind the cushion of the big, red chair? I found Hudson's heart. There was tremendous celebrating and, but for the burn ban, we would have exploded some fireworks. His heart is now living on a shelf in Daddy's study, where he visits it and occasionally, gets it down for a pat, then puts it right back. Because it seems he has learned a lesson about losing his heart.

Today Hudson was being a little sillier than I thought appropriate whilst hashing through some complex theological ideas while he composed a new (and LOUD) song on his drums. He sang something that sounded like, "God is not the holy." So I gently told him that he needed to change his lyrics, because there are certain things that we don't act silly about. He then claimed that "It was Mr. Potato Head who was telling him that God was NOT the holy. But I told him that he was WRONG and that God IS the holy!" So, now, along with his other many transgressions, Mr. Potato Head is a heretic.

We went to a neighborhood parade yesterday. It was, frankly, pretty lame (lots of cars draped in streamers carrying political candidates and members of clubs I've never heard of) but I'm the only one who thought so and I did manage to take the requisite photos capturing the curb-side anticipation:

Harper's favorite was the orange beetle bug:

Hudson liked these cool motorcycle guys:
And Helena liked the firetrucks ("fow-wow tucks"), but also declared they were "Noisy."

My own heart was gladdened indeed on Thursday when two dear friends from college came to visit with their families in tow:Stacie and Kim (and their lovely spouses) are the best sort of friend--where conversations begun 20 years ago pick right back up with each sweet reunion.

(I just spent several minutes trying to fix the freaky eyes, to no avail. We'll just conclude that we had such a great time our eyes were shining and shooting out sparks.)

Also noteworthy this weekend: the husband took Harper and Hudson to see their very first movie in a theatre. It probably deserves a post of its own because, as with most things that most people think are no big deal at all, I have (and this will be SHOCKING NEWS) complicated feelings about it. But they had a dandy time.