1.  Henry received a ‘constellation turtle’ night light as a Christmas gift, and he loves it. Loves it so much that when I put it in his crib, he’ll play with it upon waking for half an hour or so.  Since I’m already trying to teach him to be a but more able to entertain himself, and since I’m still recovering from losing that afternoon nap, I’m loving this toy even more than he is.

And that’s saying quite a lot.

2.  Shopping with gift cards is maybe the most fun thing ever. The money’s not ‘real’, I get to buy something I really want, and there’s no guilt attached.  How cool is that?

3. Blueberries. Specifically blueberries from Peru & Chile. Yeah, a locavore I am not. But you know what? These January blueberries taste better–sweeter–than my New Hampshire berries-from-the-backyard, Henry adores them, they make his tummy happy and his diapers not-as-stinky, and, well, Yum.

4.  Sunny clear day. I don’t mind the cold when I get blue skies to shiver beneath.

5. The camera on my iPhone is fantastic. Now I just need to figure out how to transfer them from camera to computer…

1.  Henry’s finally reached that dreaded ‘again’ stage.  I read him ‘Guess How Much I Love You?’ the other night–a book that always makes my throat close up with emotion at the end.  And once I swallowed those easy tears and finished the book, Henry looked up at me and, clear as day, said “Dan.”

Now, since we had a houseguest named Dan downstairs at the time, I was astonished.  Asked him, “Really? You want Dan–a lovely man, but a man you only met tonight–to read you this book?”

He repeated “Dan!” And then clarified for his poor, stupid mother with the ASL sign for “again.”  This morning while I was calming him down for his nap, he did the same thing when I started trying to stop singing the lullaby.  “Dan!” “Dan!” I knew when he wasn’t demanding a repeat performance that he was well & truly asleep.

And I read “Guess How Much I Love You?” at least six times that night.  By the 4th or fifth time, I wasn’t even getting weepy by the end.

2.  Watching The Duchess of Duke Street on DVD & enjoying it thoroughly, much to The Boy’s dismay.  He likes his movies to star Ginger Rogers. Or, if GR is not available, then at the least there should be much gunfire. Whereas I prefer costume dramas; so our Netflix list is typically a thing of very strange and scary beauty.  True Grit followed by Jane Eyre with an occasional side trip into Sesame Street.  Not-so-oddly, the “Netflix Recommends” list has no idea what to do with us…

3.  Flowering bulbs. My father-in-law buys me a flower-of-the-month 6-mos membership each year, and it’s honestly the present I anticipate the most eagerly. There is something about a pot of fast-growing, pre-planted, all-you-have-to-do-is-look-at-them flowers when it’s cold & miserable out that makes me almost deliriously happy.  Tulips are just starting to peek red petals through the leaves, but the hyacinths have been perfuming the kitchen for days now. LOVELOVELOVE winter flowers!

4. Candles (well, battery-operated LED-lights shaped like candles) in every window is our holiday lights compromise and I have to say that I’m enjoying them mightily. Coming back home to a house that is lit with a tiny light in every visible window feels welcoming and warm. Feels like home.

5.  I’m having the best time making up spreadsheets of vegetables to plant/buy/plan seed-starting capability for.  Honestly, I think I’d be happiest as a garden planner–I prefer this stage of gardening even to the harvesting stage. Something about new beginnings in the garden feels so optimistic and cozy.

1. Love my new iPhone. Yes, I’m a tech holdout in that it took me so long to climb on board. But I think I’m in love with Siri, and I know I’m in love with having access to the interwebs when le bebe is up & about. It remains to be seen if increased connectivity does anything at all for my actual productivity.

2. Holidays are over. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve always liked the holidays-even in the BeforeHenry days. But they’re exhausting, possibly even more so because of the toddler-wrangling’ that going anywhere involves these days. And they were undeniably lovely and now all that’s left is to take down the tree. Yay for January 2nd.

3. Baby hugs–usually stealth hugs from behind–are rocking my world. They’re frequent, they’re startlingly abrupt, and my heart fills up each and every time.

4. Henry is finally talking up a storm. And it’s a blast. Granted, his idea of scintillating conversation is to tell me about his favorite car. It’s blue. It goes ‘vroooom’. Blue. Vroom. Car. Blue. Car.

Still the mere fact that blob-baby of last year is initiating conversations is astonishing and wonderful, as is the fact that he’s his own little person with likes and dislikes that have very little to do with me. How cool is that?

5. Looks like another unseasonably warm day. Balmy New England!

1. Good friends with whom we laughed late into the night.  What a wonderful way to spend the last night of the year!

2. A baby boy who hugged me close and whispered my name even as he kept me awake well into the wee morning hours. Not my favorite way to spend the first hours of the new year–well, the hugging & ‘mama-ing’ was pretty wonderful, though I could have used more than 3 hours of sleep…

3. Today is bright and warm: a beautiful New Year’s Day.

4. In front of me, I have a pile of seed catalogs to peruse (my favorite New Year’s Day activity), the fixings for beef soup to make up from the remnants of last night’s roast beast dinner, and a new bird feeder to hang up outside the kitchen window. Life is so very good.

5.  In my head I have a whole slew of plans for the year ranging from losing 25 pounds (yikes!) to learning to make an excellent loaf of sourdough bread (and yes, I realize that those two goals may very well be completely incompatible!)  Garden plans, writing plans, baby-wranglin’ plans: it’s all good.

And on that note, I love New Year’s day. I realize it’s arbitrary and maybe even foolish to feel as if each January first is the beginning of a brand new world, but that’s still the way it feels. The possibilities are endless, there are so many things to learn and experience and share and enjoy.  And so I’ve decided to reintroduce and reinvent this small writing discipline of making note of five things each day into my life.

Not because I need to remind myself to look for the joy, but more because I want a platform to record it and thereby remember it. I am, in effect, saving up joy in case my life is ever again not-so-happy. I’d like to remember what this time was like, both the overwhelmingly good & the occasional not-so-good (oh, yawn, I’m sleepy today!) moments. And this blog was such a nice place for that that I’ve decided to come back to it as a writing practice.  Because I miss checking in here every day, and I miss my bloggy friends, and while I may play around with cross-posting on Facebook &/or cross-linking to my writing blog, I might also just consolidate–not sure yet. But I’ll try to be around more in 2012 than I was in 2011 (& thank you for my new & improved connectivity that might make this possible, iPhone!)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house,

(Well, pied a terre, technically: no kitchen, an illegal bathroom, basically just a dank, dark basement.  Ah, the glamor of living in New York City!)

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

(Well, actually, the mice are likely living large back at home while we’re in NY.  I’m thinking we’re going to return home to some major mouse-detritus.  And a renewed interest in finding a cat who likes us and hates mice…)

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

(Actually, for the second year now the stocking-project did NOT get finished in time for Christmas.  Maybe next  year. Maybe.  Of course, Henry DID receive a gorgeous knit stocking this year–the same pattern as my Christmas stocking from the 70s & his daddy’s from the 5os–from his Granny, so a stocking was hung for him at a fireplace in Manhattan. Close enough, I suppose…)

The children were child was nestled all snug in their his beds,
While visions of sugar plums broccoli danc’d in their his heads,
And Mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap-

(Which, sadly, was interrupted more than once by a wailing baby.  Boychick does not like the changes to his routine any more than the dog does. Speaking of which, ever try sharing a twin sized bed with a whippet? My advice: Don’t even try, just give up and sleep on the floor from the beginning of the night so you won’t be trying to make up a bed at 3am.)

  When out on the lawn street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.

(well, actually, it should read I found the key, unlocked the inner door, stood outside, shivering, while I hunted for the key to unlock the wrought iron gate that leads up into the garbage well that you clamber up out of to reach the street level.)

The moon on the breast windshields of the new fallen snow, cars parked up and down the street
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a minature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:

“Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen,
“On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem;

“To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
“Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the house- brownstone-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys – and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:
He was dress’d all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnish’d with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
And he look’d like a peddler just opening his pack:
His eyes – how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

(Well, actually, since smoking is now illegal in the parks in NYC, I’m pretty sure that smoking wouldn’t be tolerated anywhere near kids’ toys. Perhaps it was a candy pipe he was smoking?)

He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laugh’d, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh’d when I saw him in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill’d all the stockings; then turn’d with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly how it happened.  Santa found us even here in our basement in Brooklyn.  And he set up a plastic tree and decorated it with paper chains and lights and cut-paper snowflakes. And when the boy-chick woke up , he pointed at it as excitedly, as enthusiastically as if it were the Rockefeller Center tree.

He was delighted by the books and toys his sisters gave him last night, and then this morning there were cars, and toys to pound on, and to ride on. Little boy thought he was in heaven. What wonderfulness was this? Hot wheels cars everywhere he looked!

So picture this, and you will know exactly how my Christmas morning was: My husband and me, sitting around in our nightclothes and eating donuts and watching the baby play with each toy in turn. Henry giggling madly while he vroomed cars over every surface.  Me, tearing up, because everything was just so wonderful. Love all around me, filling me so full, lifting me up so high.

Everything that I ever wanted is right here in this basement. So Santa Claus must be real even though I know I’ve never been good enough to deserve this kind of happiness. Eight tiny reindeer? That must be what I felt digging into my back at 2:30 this morning. I blamed Nellie, fool that I am.

I hope everyone had a good holiday, whatever you celebrate, and–like Jane in Pride & Prejudice–only wish that everyone could be as happy as I am right now.  To that end, may this next year brings every last one of you her heart’s desire.

Bright Solstice
Happy Channukah
Merry Christmas
Joyous Kwanzaa
Happy New Year

Another month, another chunk of milestones obliterated by your fiery passage through the world.  Seriously, kiddo, slow down–Mama needs a rest!

But at least you’re calling me by name. And even your worrywort father has to admit you’re trying to talk up a storm these days.  And you’re eating, sleeping, and playing like crazy. You’re a one-nap-a-day baby now, and you eat three big-boy meals a day instead of your previous six.  You’re funny and argumentative, you have definite preferences and delightful quirks that make me laugh out loud every day.

I am so lucky to be your mama.

You grab my hand hundreds of times a day. Usually just to drag me to where you want my attention, but sometimes, it’s to hold and kiss.  You help me exercise by bouncing on me when I’m doing sit-ups–yes, the abs are getting pretty rock-hard thanks to your administrations!  You climb like a little monkey and you leap from just about anything you can climb up on (though thankfully–and I AM knocking wood even as I type this–not yet from the stairs.) You delight in drinking tea with me in the mornings, and eating whatever I’m eating at lunch or dinner.  With extra helpings of vegetables because that’s just the way you roll.  You just discovered the glory that is M&Ms, and you still love your before-bedtime bottle.  I should really break you of that habit sooner rather than later, but you love it so much and it makes you so happy that I’ve been delaying.  I’m sure your doctor will have something to say to me about that next week, but right now making you happy is more important to me than making him  happy.

You kiss and hug the dog, your father, and me with complete abandon.  You’ve learned to sign ‘love’ and now you use the sign with us as well as with your shrieking penguin toy.  I am in such good company in your affections!  You have decided to call your grandpa ‘Bampa’, and I suspect he’ll put up with it because he was so impressed you were talking to him at all.  You still love Bunny above all things, including broccoli or brussels sprouts–and that’s a lot of love.

You’re my running, hopping, twirling, bouncing, dancing, giggling bundle of joy.  I love you more than I ever thought it would be possible to love another human creature.  Running after you makes every day an adventure, reading to you with you in my lap, patting my arm makes every book we read about trucks feel like a love story, and every good night cuddle reminds me how lucky I am–how improbably, wonderfully, astonishingly lucky.

You are the star that lights up my world, baby boy.  Happy 15-month birthday, little one.  I love you more than the moon.

Looks like Henry’s well on his way to being a tea-only drinker in the wintertime. When given the option of drinking from my glass of ice-water at a restaurant, he took one sip, then grimaced.

“Hot?” he signed. Then in case I didn’t get the message, he clarified. “Where? Hot. Water.”

Where’s the hot water, indeed, clever baby boy!

(And before anyone flames me for feeding my toddler tea, he drinks well-watered herb tea–Bengal spice or peppermint, though he’s been known to dabble in a red zinger or rosehip if that’s all that’s happening.) I think he likes it for the warmth as much as the taste, because when he came inside and chugged 16 oz of tea-water, I refused to make him another cup but just refilled his cup with warm water. He guzzled that, too.)

A lovely start to my day, thought I’d share it with you all:

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

While we were feeding Henry lunch at my in-laws’ last weekend, Henry’s grandfather was unwrapping a box of holiday chocolates and held one up, asking, “Would Henry like one?”

“Not unless you have one in there that’s squash-flavored,” said The Boy.

Whereupon, Henry corrected his father–(the first of, I’m sure, many times.) “Broccoli,” said the baby, clear as a bell.  We all laughed, but I was just grateful there were other people there to witness it, because who would believe me, otherwise?

(Fortunately, for all concerned, he also started saying ‘Momma’ this weekend at the appropriate times, or I would have been devastated to rank behind even his favorite vegetable.)

Tomatoes? Really?

Yeah really.  File this one under ‘almost as unlikely as an allergy to oxytocin’.

There is a direct correlation between Henry’s impossible nights and days when he’s eaten a bunch of cherry tomatoes. He doesn’t spit up or poop red or get really burpy or develop a rash or anything else that would point to a food issue, but every night he can’t sleep is after a day in which he ate a ton (ok, maybe a carton) of cherry tomatoes over the course of the day.

Had a remarkable ‘literally didn’t sleep all night’ night in NYC a couple of nights ago, even though baby slept like an angel the night before & the night after.  The molar he was working on last week is through, nothing else is wrong with him, and I’ve suspected this in the past & made a mental note to pay attention the next time the boy-chick ate his weight in cherry tomatoes.

Ok, Universe. Please consider my attention paid.

Fortunately, he’s developed a thing for grapes, so we’ve just switched over his finger-happy food obsession to red grapes.  And we’ll wait & see what bizarre-o thing disturbs his sleep next.

Glad to have (or at least I hope I have) figured it out, but sad that the salad days of tomato eating are over.