Some stuff.

• Yesterday we went swimming with my sister-in-law and her sister (whom I would like to claim as my faux sister-in-law and whose children we wish were Caleb's cousins). I had to pull a blue-lipped Caleb from the pool at least once to warm him up. And then he asked me through chattering teeth, "C-c-can I g-g-go back in n-n-now? I'm n-n-not cold anymore!" Also, unsurprisingly, I did an awesome job of sunscreening Caleb and poor job of sunscreening myself. I have red knees and two large lobstery splotches on my back. Good job, self!
• Paul's car has finally died an ignominious death. A moment of silence for the 1988 Toyota Camry with 220K miles on it. We will all miss (?) its dashboard cover, lovingly and eponymously embroidered, as well as its whistling upon hitting 75 mph, and its unidentifiably unique scent. May you rest in peace in the wrecking yard, old car. (Please let Paul cry on your shoulder for a minute if you're heartless enough to bring up this painful event.)
  
  And, yes, I ghettoized the picture a bit by blurring out the license plate in that very professional way. Sorry to desecrate you in death, Camry.
• And today we hit the museum formerly known as The Children's Museum of Utah. I am unclear as to what its name is now (Discovery Gateway? How is that the name of a children's museum? Are we doing away with the pretense that it's a museum? So many questions.). When I was growing up, my sisters and I loved the museum for the opportunity to try to recognize coins with our eyes covered up and to see how well we could navigate a hallway in a wheelchair. Yes, I learned sensitivity for those with disabilities at an early age. (Actually, what I learned was that I really wanted a wheelchair and that being blind was like playing a game with money!) Also, there was the play grocery store and the archeological dig site. So fun. Now the "museum"--as everyone already knows--is much like it used to be only so much better. Caleb essentially spent three hours pretending to be someone else:
  
  You can't see it, but that hard hat says "boss," and yes. He was.
  
  
  Although this face resembles a "please don't take a picture of me" sneer, it's actually a serious newscaster face. He's a professional, people.
  
  
  A real helicopter with buttons and switches and a working radio?! How could he possibly find even a spare second to look at his mother? Especially when there were other rescuers in the helicopter in need of his guidance?