"My top schools where I want to apply to are Oxford and the Sorbonne. My safety's Harvard."

I don't know how many of my three readers are familiar with Wes Anderson's movies... if you are not familiar with his work, I am sorry because they are fabulous films. And I am also sorry because this post references these movies.

I often wonder what life would be like if I had been given a daughter. Would my days be different? Would I be constantly on the move during Ruary-ette's waking hours like I am now, keeping him from mortal peril, like I am now? Or keeping up with the multitude of "interests" that Ruary picks up every time he sees a new piece of heavy equipment or another animal?

The answer is that I think I was supposed to raise boys. My affinity for Wes Anderson movies has helped my boy-raising skills, I think. His movies seem to rotate around one theme... sons. Women are never the title or main characters; instead, women tend to be either the mothers or love interests. While this irks my feminine mystique, I am drawn to the movies despite of the lack of females in the spotlight. The movies tend to center around either non-present mothers or mothers who are strong, smart but still a little edgy, and I identify (although sometimes the mothers are also absent, which I DON'T understand). And there are hardly ever daughters involved (I know, The Royal Tenenbaums has a daughter, but she is MESSED UP). Because of the concentration on boys, these movies are full of focused silliness... the young gentlemen (and sometimes the grown men) are often obsessive in their pursuits. The obsession makes them charming. They are serious about what most would see as hobbies... I always think about Rushmore, in which the main character, Max, throws himself into his passion of playwriting, producing awesomeness in the form of a Vietnam War drama complete with helicopters and explosions.

I see this focused silliness in my son. And a lot of other boys. I already see him making boats a topic of daily conversation... when we pull up to the house, after I turn off the ignition, I have taught him to be quiet and still so he might listen for birds or dogs barking or any other of the great noises on our hill. He says, "Shh! Shh!", to which I ask, "What do you hear?" He almost always says, "A boat! Hyster!" There are no boats. Or Hysters. But he has the silly in him, and the silly is manifesting itself in such a serious way, like he really, really means it. Like he is sure that the rest of the world is as enamored of boats and Hysters.

Another obsession? Epic hiding. He will hide for ANY reason. If you leave the room to get a glass of water, you might come back to find Ruary with his head buried into a couch pillow, "hiding". Or he will wedge himself between the front door and the screen door (thank goodness that big melon of his keeps him from being able to shut the door, trapping him in between). Bottom line, his favorite part is the reveal. "Oh, THERE you are, Ruary!" And he thinks he is the most amazing creature on this planet for having hidden from you. Then he laughs.

I ramble. But I also pay attention to the strange little creature my son is fast on his way to becoming... a creature that thrives on his little obsessions. What a fun summer this has been.

If you haven't seen any Wes Anderson movies, please start with Rushmore. Do it. Do it. DO IT.