I must confess, we headed to a big box store to purchase a point and shoot digital camera yesterday. Sorry local stores. I'll do penance, I promise.
Now that that's off my conscience... hey pals! We have a point and shoot camera that takes video. Know what this means? Blogging at a whole new level! When the internet blows up, I will take full responsibility. The adorability factor of Willa and Henry in motion will surely overwhelm the servers at blogspot central.
Now. At big box store, there is a new section of musical instruments. Mostly the kind that you need to plug in to hear. For a tenth of a second I considered being a woodwind dork and asking for clarinet reeds (Sarah, I still haven't made good on my goal to pick up the clarinet again). But a quick glance told me those wouldn't be in stock.
There were two gents in their early twenties working behind the counter in this section. One wore a terry cloth head band and a smirk. It's cool because it's ironic, I could see him explaining to his dad that morning.
They watched me as I carried Henry and followed Willa from one drum machine to the next, from a Hannah Montana guitar to another equally sparkly model that probably sounded like junk. I could feel them rolling their eyes and immediately branding me "not cool."
Willa sat on the floor and strummed a small electric guitar. Henry rocked back and forth in my arms. I pretended to hear the music and played air drums.
Hey big box store instrument sales guys: moms do not need irony to be cool.