Clarification from yesterday: HR has been able to say two- and three-word phrases for a long time, ("Bye, doo-doo!" "I did it!", etc.) but the breakthrough yesterday was that he constructed the sentences himself and wasn't repeating. Subtle difference, but I just didn't want to appear to contradict things I might have written in the past.
So last might Mike and I made a nice dinner and some Rob Roys and watched Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory because we are super romantic like that. My fascination with the West Memphis 3 goes all the way back to the original airing of the first installment. I was still in college at the time but I went home for the weekend, taking advantage of the comforts of my parents' home, which included HBO. I remember going to my brother's little league game and coming home and watching that first documentary and it upset me so much I couldn't sleep for a long time. It disturbed me deeply, not just because it was pretty clear that justice was not being served but because someone killed three little boys--as if that's not terrifying enough on its own--but that person apparently got away with it, that person lived in the world and could do it again. It really messed with my head. Somewhere along the line I caught up with the middle installment, and I don't remember it at all. But the finale took a big chunk out of my soul, way more than the other two films, and I can tell you why: it's because between viewings I went and had a kid.
I do not mean to say that if you don't have kids you can't be horrified by what happened, not at all. I only mean that when you have your own kid, everything immediately and intensely becomes about that kid. You can't help but project. I can't even imagine going through what those parents went through--including the parents of the three young men who served 18 unjust years--and I can't even let my mind go to the boys and how they must have been feeling when they were killed, what must have happened. There is actual crime scene footage, you get to see those little stiff bodies. At first I was like, "Oh, it's a re-enactment. Those are mannequins." Would that I had retained that impression. I recommend the doc like crazy, I think it's an important piece of work about a very shady piece of American history, but it helps to know what you're getting into, whether or not you are a parent. And if you fancy a stiff drink, you might need a couple before you can fathom going to bed. And let's just say that I've never been grateful for a nighttime wake-up before, not until last night. HR was psyched because he got to cuddle in the big bed, but Mama and Daddy got the real benefit. How lucky we are just to get to hold him close, whenever we want. Obviously I've been stressing about our sleep woes, but after that viewing I think I've glimpsed the very definition of "don't sweat the small stuff."
To lighten waaaaay up, here's a song I'm loving, though I think it's a stretch for Snoop to be identifying as young anymore. I've had a soft spot for him since I saw an episode of Cribs where he doted on his kids and also ran a vacuum like he probably did every day. The he went down to his crazy posh recording studio. The point is I am a sucker for glimpses of humanity in famous people, however fleeting. And this song is fun and I kind of dig Wiz Khalifa.
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