Boy, Wierdness

This morning on the way to school, my son informed me of about a billion facts about left-handers.  Not because he is a left-hander, mind you, but because he has been "...infiltrating the left-handed database", as he put it.  This database, as far as I can tell, consists of his left-handed friend Henry and one book, "Lefties" by Jack Fincher.  He might have also perused a left-handed web site, http://www.lefthandedportal.com/, but I didn't get all of the details on that before he got out of the car at school.  That, and the one about BB Guns at friends houses, are conversations we need to come back to this weekend.  I'm expecting sighs and eye rolls.

But getting him to focus will be difficult as he and his father are about to embark on his 10th birthday trip to Detroit.  Yes, Motor City, where our son was born and lived until he was three-months old.  They are going back primarily to bond over the tree in the front yard of the house we lived in where my husband and his brother buried the umbilical cord after it fell of our son's body.  I never asked much about that little ritual, still not that interested quite frankly, but they got a kick out of it.  And so now, for a period of about 15 minutes, my husband and son will stand on a sidewalk in Detroit and talk about rituals and babies and love.  Then, knowing them, they'll be off to every museum in the area, happy as clams.  The one they are really looking forward to is the Henry Ford Museum.  From all of the Presidential limousines to the house of the future and everythign in between, this is a wonderfully odd (in the best way) museum.  They are both very interested in seeing the chair that Lincoln was sitting in when he was assasinated, as well as all of the engines in the "Made in America" section.

Upon their return, there will be the sleepover with about 4 of his friends for the actual birthday party and they will dress like this--a cross between a young Obi-wan and well, I'm not sure what else.  Pillows for shields, socks for ear covers and clown shoes, along with a sword and a hero name I cannot pronounce--times that by 4 and you'll have the main activity for the sleepover.  Between bouts of saving the world, there will be Lego building, a movie and possibly a convoluted football game in the park.  In other words, heaven.

It's amazing though that in just under 3 years I'll be looking back and wishing frantically for the odd and innocent simplicity of this time as girls, a growing social life, a reticence to share anything and everything that flows through his brain, and a million other things I don't understand will be the new world order for him and his friends.  And he'll believe, wholeheartedly, that wierdness is something I alone hold the patent to, because let's face it, he'll be too cool to chair dance with me in the car to the They Might Be Giants version of "Istanbul" like we did yesterday on the way home from my office.

So, I guess I better make good use the time we have left in this phase of his life, lord knows there are quite a few more odd facts to learn, sword fights to have and songs to boogie-down to.