Frozen

The latest lapse in blogging is brought to you by the stomach flu, unemployment, and the numbers 9-1-1. I don't feel like expanding on any of those topics. Rather, let's just move on, you and I. (At this point I don't particularly expect any 'you's' to be left.)

And despite the title of this blog, there will be no snow queens or talking snowmen roving about in it. Hence, if you were reading in hopes of Disney magic, alas, there will be none. Only Noah magic.

Noah is a ham. A real ham. Cover him in pineapple, and you could serve him for the holidays. Let's not, but you could. He has locomotives of energy, trucks of charisma, and toasters of crazy ('cause how else would you measure crazy?). Typically, to wind down before bed, he runs full speed from one couch to the other throwing himself head first into the cushions, before charging back to his point of origin and repeating the process. (And I will sadly include that he doesn't always land on the couch. Sometimes his beautiful block is hurtled headlong into carpet and/or load-bearing wall.) When we are driving in the car, he chats our ears off about this, that, and what the monkey says - oo, oo, oo, ee, ee, ee. When, in the throes of frustration, he cannot remove the lid from his beloved bubble wand, he screams, a hearty, masculine, baby shriek that shakes the rafters. Then he grins and eats the bubbles. He is a ham.

Until people arrive. It is no wonder that with Justin for a father and me for a mother, the poor lad is terminally shy. He never had a chance. When approached by someone he doesn't know or doesn't spend a lot of time around, my Little Man freezes solid. He will not move a muscle. It is honestly somewhat concerning. He'll stay there for a long, long time. Frozen. I don't know how his little muscles do it. He can be stuck with his arm straight out, and I am sure all the blood will have drained out of it pooling in his little sneakers, and still the lad will not budge. He is going to kick trash at freeze tag and red light/green light when he goes to school.

His next action will either be to move only his eyeballs, peering up through long lashes and a shaggy mane to see if his foe is gone or seems less scary on second glance, or to melt into a puddle of silent tears. It is a toss up as to which action will occur, and sometimes one follows the other. That's super funsies.

He would make an excellent figurehead. The Good Ship Noah, sailing the seven seas, led into gale and adventure by a curiously lifelike figurehead of the most adorable, frozen little scalawag every seen.