Mission Control

When I was little, I had a friend named Kevin. He lived next door. I liked him because he had superman capes and his mom let us jump off his bunk-bed. He also had a raspberry bush in his yard (Mmmmm. . .) and right next to the garden hose was the hugest sandbox you could ever imagine. Kevin was a born rocket-scientist. (Actually, he's an economics professor at Purdue. Hi Kevin. If you ever read this blog, like I do yours sometimes. . . . your wife is darling. Your kids are adorable. And long live the sandbox!) He and I used to engineer these gigantic pressurized water-dirt-bomb-explosions that would plaster mud twenty feet up the side of his house - making his mom very mad. But it was still our favorite pastime and Kevin was the brains behind the whole thing. He was pretty much the brains behind everything at his house - which was filled with rocket-launchers, model airplanes, computer parts, homemade radios, and all sorts of scientific gadgets and gizmos. He used to bore my 6-year-old brain to tears with his talk of NASA, space shuttles, and the latest science technology. Uggghhh. I've actually hated science ever since.

Until I had Clayton.

And now I can't EVEN explain how giddy-with-interest I am listening to him go on and on about NASA, space shuttles, and the latest science technology. So it was a dream come true when Nate's friend, who happens to work at NASA - In Mission Control (of all places) - offered to take him and the boys on a special-V.I.P.-security-badge-insider's-tour of NASA's Mission Control Center. They had a great time and even got to see REAL astronauts in space. Oh, and they took a ton of pictures. . .

Awesome, huh?

Clayton, brushing up on the shuttle's operating manual

Thanks again for the great tour!
From what I hear, the boys were in heaven.

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