What was I talking about?

I talked to Grammie earlier today and one of her first questions about Woody was "what's up with the red hair?" I don't know, but if he winds up with red hair, it proves that someone out there has a sense of humor.



A few years ago, I bought Maggie an antique mandolin I found her in an antique store that was very near our house in St. Paul, basically on a whim. Last year, before she got pregnant, Maggie finally decided to take some lessons; she always wanted to be able to play an instrument that involved more ear and less rote (like me, she had taken piano lessons while growing up) and having the mandolin seemed like as good a reason as any to play it. The first song she ever was able to play passably was the old Irish ditty "Red Haired Boy," which has been primarily notable ever since because Grandma Stiffler and I have the annoying propensity to whistle, hum, or sing it at family gatherings just to make various people roll their eyes.*

Anyway, when Maggie got pregnant, there were a few ha-ha discussions about how 'wouldn't it be funny if the kid was a red-haired boy,' which gained a little more traction when we found it that the kid was a boy. Still, it never seemed very likely, even though Granddad Hobbs has a famously bright head of red hair. As we all know, red hair is a recessive gene and there is only very spotty evidence to support an idea that Maggie's family has the gene (although, fine, her three cousins that have red hair are perhaps a bit better than spotty evidence).

On the other hand, many babies wind up with differently colored hair than what it looks like at the time of their birth, so who knows what it will wind up as.

I guess I just ramble today because I'm so stoked about tomorrow morning's extubation attempt. I'll try to post an update in the morning to let you know if the early indications are that it's taking or not. We are beyond excited.

*Lately I've started coming up with impromptu lyrics to the song that usually have something to do with how Grandma Stiffler is going insane. Which is, of course, a self-fulfilling prophecy. But what's a good son-in-law to do besides drive his mother-in-law a litle batty?