Popping Bubbles

Joy is being able to dance on plastic packing bubbles!

Bonus cuteness: Last night I took John on a mother-son dinner date. He was such a gentlemanly companion. He held open all my doors, and did so for a group of four elderly ladies. He very much wanted to do all the conversing with the waitress, so he'd confirm with me ahead of time what to say, and then he would do all the speaking. We had good conversation, including the very boyish comment during a quiet lull: "Mama, beheading makes you dead."  "Yes, that's true." And then he moved on to something else.

During a moment when we were sitting and waiting in a large chair together, he began gently but rapidly kicking my foot with his foot. I saw him grinning, so I stared at him questioningly instead of leaping to correcting him for rudely kicking me. After a few seconds of his smiling, he asked me, "Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I'm kicking you to Beethoven!" By which he meant that he was kicking me to the beat of Ode to Joy, the fourth movement of Beethoven's 9th Symphony--with which he has been joyously obsessed for weeks. So then we "sang" the tune while he kicked me again and laughed and laughed. (I just ordered for John "Beethoven Lives Upstairs" of the Classical Kids Series, which I think he'll really enjoy.)