All by myself

David just left to take the babes to Hermann Park to talk with the ducks and geese and leave me with a little peace and quiet to work on my BTA strategic plan for the BTNP. The house is quiet and strange as I sit here, all by myself, with the restless cat for company.

For Father's Day I gave Matt an Eric Carle book called Mister Seahorse. Seahorses carry the eggs of their young until they are ready to hatch--they are a daddy fish. In the book, the seahorse meets other daddy fishes, like the tilapia. The illustrations are beautiful because it is, after all, an Eric Carle book.

Never mind that the real motive for the seahorse nurturing its young is because it doesn't trust the female to do the same job. Fortunately most children's stories lend themselves to a broad--and most flattering--interpretation of reality. Didn't the Brothers Grimm make having a stepmother sound downright romantic?

I made Matt promise to keep the babes in the stroller when they visit the ducks. I keep thinking of a story on the news this past week. A little boy pulled away from his father and fell into a pond. Rather than drown, however, he just rolled onto his back and floated--just like he had been taught in his swimming class. The babes are going to take a class like that this fall at a pool near the house. (I should take it, too, but would be embarrassed to take a class called "Starfish 2.") Until then, the babes are stuck in the stroller when they outnumber their parents, especially near water.

I'm sure the ducks like it better that way, anyway.