Wendi {at random}

Major storms blew through here tonight while we were out to dinner. We went to my favorite local restaurant, the Red Star Brewery where the seared sesame tuna makes my tummy do backflips of happiness. Anyway, we were there when the radio played its beeeeeep beeeeeeep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep emergency warnings alerting us to the pending doom. The boys and I walked over to the window to watch as the winds blew over potted trees and the waiters ran around frantically scooping up the cushions from the patio chairs just outside the main entrance. Then the lightening began to dance around the city and the thunder rumbled overhead. The lights flickered only a couple of times, but we were safe and sound, happy in the promise of good food.

Camden sat in sophisticated silence as he munched on his pizza. (Yes, I just said that.)Benjy talked the ENTIRE time he was eating his chicken fingers, having a grand conversation with his 11 Star Wars guys that he brought with him in a red plastic cup. These two were total opposites tonight. Camden was so excited to go to this restaurant. He calls it the Train Station because that's what it is - a partially converted train station where Amtrak still picks up passengers and drops them off twice a day. This is Camden's version of a "fancy" restaurant. Nevermind the relaxed, casual elegance and homebrewed beer inside. This wannabe for president of the United States took a bubble bath and put on his amazingly handsome blue oxford shirt with his clip on presidential tie and khaki pants and he was ready. He looked just like Alex P. Keaton from Family Ties.

In contrast was Benjy, a smiley face shirt about three sizes too large and camo shorts from Target paired with his green Crocks. A little ragamuffin who might at best hope to sleep on the White House lawn one day. It wasn't until they were nearly finished with their hot fudge sundaes from McDonald's an hour later that these two actually resembled each other. Ice cream dripped down Camden's tie and shirt. Hot fudge was smeared all around Benjy's mouth and his yellow smileys had a patina of chocolate. They both giggled and pretended to fight half of the way home. They playfully poked at each other, pinched each other, tickled each other, stuck their feet in one another's faces. And still they laughed and and sang and howled. All Curt and I could do was crack up at their silliness, the utter UNpresidentialness of it all. Someday when my son's president and I'm staying over at the White House, I'll have to remember these days. Now, I'm wondering which one will actually be presidential material.