Sool

I should begin by noting some cute shit you've done lately.

1. When we sit down to eat, you immediately hold out your hands to both of us so that we can pray. Lately, you've started to desire further prayer throughout the meal. Daddy and I will be eating our burgers, avocado falling out the sides, talking about frequent flyer miles or tornadoes or book proposals and you'll suddenly hold out your hands and say "pray, pray!" This behavior will be really darling until you join a right-wing evangelical church with a praise band called "His Kingdom Come."

2. Yesterday was Gak's birthday and I casually asked if you wanted to call her and say "happy birthday." And you said "hap-eye birf-da?" I almost peed my pants. We called Gak and you said "hap-eye birf-da" into the phone and she did pee her pants. Then you walked over to your book shelf and returned with the book about birthdays (touch the jewels in the crown! touch the spongy cake! touch the rubbery balloon!) which we haven't looked at since, like, Nam. "Birf-da," you said, showing me the book. I know, I know that babies are sponges, but I always assumed you were ignoring everything I said. It's bizarre to find out that you were listening when we read that book 4 months ago and that you remember it still.

3. Generally you're into words like pretty, baby, happy, etc. Except you pronounce the last syllable as "eye" rather than "ee" so it kind of sounds like you have a southern drawl.

Anyway, the main narrative this week has been the car. We said good-bye to the Honda and hello to a new (used) Saab. Then the Saab started flashing a weird warning so we returned it to the dealer so they could check it out and said hello to an obscenely large SUV. I have nothing against people who drive SUVs out of necessity. Like, they have three kids in car seats or a lumber business or a cheetah. Fine, I get it. But when I see the vehicle parked in front of our house, I want to hurl. Hopefully the Saab will be pronounced well and good and we'll have it back on Monday.

My Dad ("Ark") bought the Honda in 1993. When he was deciding on the color, he showed my teen-age self both options: gold and silver (apparently he was a girl scout at heart) and I pronounced both of them ugly. I was insistent that he NOT choose either of these colors. And he didn't. He rolled into the driveway in a car that was neither gold nor silver and explained that the dealer had another color option when he arrived that day: yun. I was satisfied. Yun was a much more complex and unique color. Plus, I felt really smart when I said it. Yun. I could feel my SAT scores increase every time I used the word. And use it I did, all the time. Knowingly, nonchalantly, condescendingly. Until one day during college when I tried to use it during a Boggle match and my opponent pointed out that it wasn't a word. And indeed, it was not. Grandpa Mark made it up and then USED in in context for the next FIVE YEARS. Cruelty, thy name is yun.

When it came time to choose this car, I told Dada I didn't want a regular, boring color. I wanted something interesting and unique. I am so glad he was able to find a sool colored Saab. Not silver, not gray, but sool. Maybe your prom dress will be sool too. I can only hope.