27 July 2009
22 July 2009
What would terrify a one-year-old more; a plush rocking horse, or getting merged into by an eighteen-wheeler? If you picked the plush rocking horse, you'd be correct. On night 1 of our vacation last month we stayed with one of Jami's very favorite people in the world (and her family, thanks, Harrows). There was a plush rocking horse in the living room which Rhus began eyeballing with a certain degree of suspicion. Thinking I was clever, I went over to it and began to pet it. Then I grabbed the handle and had it leap at me, while I hollered. Rhus freaked out. It took him about three minutes to stop shaking. The next day, on I-25 on our way to Aurora to visit another friend, an eighteen-wheeler merged into us, not once but twice. He hit my door, I tried to get away, and then he hit our rear wheel and spun us ninety degrees to the left as he finally started braking. Rhus looked mildly interested, and then spent the next fifteen minutes waving at cars from the side of the highway.