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.

Sleep.  Oh lord, if there’s one thing I underestimated before Henry was born, it was the importance of baby-sleep.

“He’ll sleep when he’s tired,” I thought.
“I’ll never be one of those parents who posts signs on the door ‘hush, baby’s sleeping’.  He’ll learn to sleep through distractions. of course,” I insisted.
“How hard can it be? You figure out what works and then you’re set!” I gloated.

To which I now, with the wisdom of having dealt with the baby-sleep issue for the last, um, 14 months, say:

HAH!

Henry’s in the process of transitioning from 2 naps to 1.  (His idea, not mine.)  And he’s also in the never-ending process of getting yet another molar.  Bad timing that these two things coincide, because, really, either one is likely to produce bad-sleeping-times.  And both of them at once?

We had our worst night ever–and I AM talking ‘ever’ worse than his newborn nights, worse than, well, EVER– a couple of nights ago. Nothing would do but that I hold him over my shoulder.  He’s more than half my height, and he’s weighing well over 30 pounds. Which means I can’t sit down and hold him over my shoulder, and holding him while standing (and exhausted!) is likely to result in collapsing us both to the floor.  We tried propping mama up on his big-boy bed which is currently in use as a diaper-changing station.  We tried lying on the floor on a spare blanket.  We tried sitting and rocking and singing and reciting books and holding bunny and not-holding bunny.  But all he wanted was to be held and patted, and if he couldn’t be held and patted, then he was going to cry. And scream. And wail.

Oi.  From 11pm until I gave up all pretense of sleep at 6am, he was in my arms. Over my shoulder. Which is still, two days later, sore.

And the reason for all the anguish? He didn’t get a good nap the day before.

I guess all kids are like this, but I had no idea. When he’s really tired, he doesn’t sleep better more soundly, the way I would: he sleeps much worse.  Which means that during this transition time where some days he needs two naps, but some days he’s good with only one, we’re constantly having to reconfigure naptime in order to get him down. Which means the naptime routine is up in the air. Sometimes I can plop him down as per our usual style and he settles right in with a smile, but other days, I have to rock him to sleep and ease him into bed, because if he awakens he will NOT be happy at being abandoned. There’s really no telling what kind of a day it’s going to be, so I’ve started just rocking him to sleep (I know, bad habit, but shoot, my brain is too dead to be severe, disciplanarian mommy.) And, too, when he’s napped well, nighttime sleep is a breeze, so I’m inclined to make extra efforts to get him to sleep during the day just so I can sleep at night. because when he’s had a hard time sleeping in the day, nighttime sleep is out of the question for both of us.  Which makes for an incredibly cranky and tired mama baby.

So we’re working through it slowly, painfully, exhaustedly.  And we’re looking forward to the day when his body finally finishes adjusting to a one-nap schedule so we can get back to our clockwork nap-routine.  And in the meantime, the house is a mess, I’m not writing a word (sorry for the long blogging absence, but you know, no sleep=no words to spare) and dinners have been less-elaborate than when I was working full-time. Worst of all, when he’s tired, he’s not his usual happy, chipper self. Every tumble results in tears. Every frustration causes foot-stomping. Every minor disappointment is a cue for wailing.  It’s exhausting, and makes me realize how easy he usually is (and hats off to all you moms who have chronically fussy kids. I don’t know how you do it with any grace at all!)

Today appears to be a 2-nap day, so I’m taking advantage of the free time and drinking more coffee, working on the xmas shopping chore, contemplating (and then rejecting the idea of) cleaning the house.  Dust bunnies? Who cares! I have the house to myself, and it’s quiet and I can put my head down on the table and rezzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

*sigh*

This too, I know, shall pass, and when he’s moving to no nap at all, I’m sure I’ll look back on these days with nostalgia.  But for the moment, I’m just wondering where all my free time went.

Now, off to drink more coffee…

Pie-day Thanksgiving Day was lovely–not entirely restful, thanks to the baby, but lovely nevertheless. There was much pie – (apple, berry, pumkin/pecan!) time spent with family, much baking of pies laughter, and I hope all of your holidays were all equally pieful splendid.

Seriously, my holiday was lovely and would have been even without the pie, but I missed my own family terribly this year. I think because I just saw them, oddly enough.  So it was kind of a bittersweet holiday for me. I wanted my mom’s western beans as a side dish! There was no CoolWhip on the pie and that was just wrong!  I wanted my grandmother’s clan to be eating turkey in her house that’s been sold for 20 years, and I wanted that turkey to be cut by my grandpa, who died when I was in my 20s!  And, since I obviously couldn’t have any of that, I wanted to have a nice Thanksgiving meal with my parents and brother!  And, of course, they are on the other side of the country… So, although Thanksgiving with the Boy’s family was lovely, I was a bit nostalgic and sad all weekend.

But now we’re home again, and it’s time for the dreaded Christmas shopping ritual, which for me consists less of going to the mall and more of going online.  Over and over again.  Yawn.  I’d rather be reading blogs. I’d rather be reading the news. I’d rather be–well, I’d rather be doing almost anything.  Shopping for Henry is fun, but everyone else? Meh.  Since I realize that my own tastes are somewhat eclectic, I tend to second-guess myself too much, recognizing that the ‘perfect gift’ I find for each hard-to-buy-for person on my list is only perfect if you’re, well, me.

Which, of course, they aren’t.

Ah well. It’s not about the gift, it’s about the thought behind the gift, yaddayaddayadda.  Now I’m going to go buy something else for Henry, because at least I know what he likes!

Other than the prospect of shopping hell which mires me every time I stop to pause for breath, things are chugging along nicely here.  Henry’s developing a full-on obsession with ‘Things That Go’–cars, trucks, trains, boats, planes. It’s all Very. Very. Exciting. his aunt & uncle bought him a red toy car with a handle which he’s been putting to good use since he’s also developing a habit of never walking anywhere unless both hands are full of toys. Which is adorable until he starts wailing because he’s found another toy he wants to carry and can’t decide which one to put down.  It’s like watching the man try to eat a sandwich while smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee.  Puts one down, picks one up–repeats randomly until optimum combination is arrived at. At which point the optimum combination changes and he has to start all over again.

He’s also started talking/babbling/mimicking FINALLY.  And–I know this surprises no one!–’Mama’ is still not in his repertoire.  Whereas really important words like ‘arrow’, ‘box’, ‘clock’, and ‘coffee’ are totally there.  Hmmph.  I got all excited when he started saying ‘mom-mom-mom’ until I realized he was just trying for ‘meow-meow-meow’. Child’s going to be 17 before he says my name.  Grrummmph.

But it’s a relief that he’s starting to be more verbal. He’ll try to say words for things that interest him, even if all he gets out is the first syllable.  ‘Bannister’ is ‘baba’.  ‘Coffee’ is ‘Kkkkkkkkkkkkfffffffff!!!’ He’s throwing a French accent on ‘Blue’ so that it comes out more like ‘bluh’, but it’s there.  ‘Car’ is totally understandable. And he gets so delighted with himself when he gets a word right and we fuss over him, that it’s a fun game to play.

Naps are starting to shift, much to my dismay.  I’ve been enjoying the clockwork 9am & 2pm naps.  But some days, they just don’t happen that way. He’s had several days where he’ll take forever to fall asleep, sleep WAY too long, and then he won’t take an afternoon nap, but he’ll be too tired to stay up til 7pm (his usual bedtime these days.)  He’s been getting up around 7am (praise everything!) pretty consistently since we got back from the trip, and I for one am loving the not-awake-at-6am thing.

Food continues to be easy-peasy. If it has anything green in it, he’ll eat it.  Beans are a big favorite. Spicy is a good taste. He eats a ton–seriously, I never imagined he’d be eating more than I do at this stage in his life but I honestly think he is! He’ll down an entire Amy’s Burrito for lunch. And he’ll have a bowl of cereal and yogurt and fruit for breakfast. Dinner is whatever we’re having (which is the main reason he’s staying up til 7. Making two dinners was just too much for me.) and he eats a lot of it.  It’s impressive, really, and since he’s just getting taller, I figure he needs it.  But – wowza.  Trying not to think about what grocery bills are going to be like with him as an adolescent! On our first day home from the holiday, we went out & bought donuts (unwilling, apparently, for the sugar-fest to end).  Thinking sneakily ahead, we bought Henry a donut with colored sprinkles.  He loved it.  He played with the sprinkles, picking them off and eating them individually, and then started nomming on the donut. Other than Little Debbie Oatmeal cookies (I know, I know, it’s a disease, this LD addiction!) this is really the first time my kid ate something sweet! Success!!! (And a great big Yay for sprinkles!)

Life is generally really darned good.  So good, in fact, that it’s a bit hard to know what to write about. I could tell you that I’m so busy I haven’t yet begun the cataloguing project in the library, and that the empty card-catalogue is starting to make my skin itch.  Must. Fill. With cards.

Or that I’m dying to work on my novel, and can’t seem to make enough hours in the day to do so.

I could bitch about the fact that I really need to (and for a change, really want to) start getting more exercise, and simply can’t seem to find enough time in the day to work in a workout.

I could take a photo of the still-unfinished Christmas stocking which I started a year & a half ago & have worked on almost every day since, and bemoan the fact that it’s still  not finished, and that after it IS finished, (sometime in the next century) I plan to knit for at least a couple of years before cross-stitching ever sounds like fun again.

But see, that’s all kind of boring, and also kind of reeks of trying to make drama out of nothing. Because, really, I COULD do everything, but I made a conscious decision that Henry was going to be my number one priority til he was in preschool.  Which means reading to him when he wants to be read to, and not hiding away in my own book. It means that blogging and writing and cataloguing all have to be done during nap/sleeping times because when he’s awake, he’d really rather I come play with him. Cars are more fun when momma vrooms them alongside you, you know.

And you know what else? Writing will wait, cataloguing will wait, but Henry? He’s changing every day, growing up every day. This time I have as the center of his world is finite, and I’m trying to enjoy every minute of it, take advantage of every moment, store up in my heart the way it feels when he reaches for my hand to bring me to a game he’s devised, or hugs me hard for no reason but that he wants to.  I’m not the greatest housekeeper in the world, nor the greatest librarian, nor even the best cross-stitcher, but by-damn, I’m enjoying this child’s presence in my life to the best of my ability!

It is very rare, I think, in this world at least, that we are given exactly what we need to make us happy.  It’s boring to write about, but wonderful to realize that I’m here, that I’ve arrived at the place I’ve been aiming for most of my life.  I’m happy. I’m so very lucky.  And even without my parents and brother and grandparents here with me, completing my family circle, I’m home.  And I’m very, very thankful.

Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday, the one that means the most to me, probably. The only one I probably take more seriously than the product marketers do. Being grateful, being thankful, being mindfully aware of the good things in my life has always been important to me, and in the recent past I credit that kind of mindfulness with keeping me out of/helping me out of a blacker pit of depression than I’ve ever sunk into before.

But grateful mindfulness has never seemed quite as important as it does54 this year.

Three years ago I was in the middle of IVF hell. Two years ago I was running around Connecticut trying to find a pharmacy open on Thanksgiving that could sell me an emergency hCG shot. Last year I was toting a newborn and still feeling rather overwhelmed–in a good way, but still overwhelmed.  This year? I am so very grateful. For my family, for my husband, for my son. For my parents, my brother’s family, my grandmother and aunts & their families. For my inlaws. For my life. I am so lucky, so fortunate, so wallowing in contentment that I know I’ll look back on this time for the rest of my life and smile.  “Those were good times,” I’ll think.  I’m thinking that already.

So in and amidst the turkey-eatin’, the football watching, the gravy-whisking, and the rest of it all, I’m stopping to say a few words of gratitude to the Universe, to modern medicine, to my friends both IRL & URL.  And for everyone who’s still in the trenches, still in IVF hell, still looking for a pharmacy that keeps Thanksgiving hours, I’m thinking of you tonight, and hoping–hoping so much–that you’re here on the other side by this time next year.

Now go eat some pumpkin pie, willya? Because as anyone who knows me, knows–pie is never a bad idea.

So you see: my kid has a bunny.  (A plush toy, not a little hoppy thing.) Someone gave it to him at a baby shower, and it was adorable, silky-soft & floppy, lots of easy-to-grab spots for baby hands, and not so huge as to be unmanageable for a little one.  So when he was old enough to need a lovey, he’d already been a big fan of Bunny for a while, and Bunny quickly became his ‘go-to’ toy when he really wanted someone to hug, and Mommy & Daddy weren’t available.

(The Boy tried to name Bunny “Rabbo-the Rabid-Rabbit” but I was having none of that.  Bunny is his name, as evidenced by the fact that Henry knows that Bunny is his name.  We have a morning routine, Henry and I, wherein I sing the Bunny Song and Henry dances Bunny around the crib. It ends in big hugs & smooches for Bunny–from me, from Henry, and even from Nellie [if she's ambled in to see what all the noise is about and ask "is-there-anything-to-eat?" in her mellow-dog way.] Nellie covets the bunny, but while Henry is very good about sharing most of his toys, Bunny is special. Bunny is sacred. Bunny is NOT TO BE POUNCED ON BY THE DOG, lest there be tears.)

You probably think you know where this is going.  Something tragic must have happened to Bunny, eh?

Nope.  Contrary to my usual ‘catch-as-catch-can’ style of parenting, I actually realized a while back that having a back-up bunny might be a good thing.  Only problem was that I cut the scratchy tag off Bunny when he first was taken up by Henry.  So, there I was with an anonymous, much-beloved bunny, and no way (save dumb luck) to find another.

And then I got dumb-lucky.  I found another one, only it was the wrong size and the wrong color. But at least I knew the manufacturer. And using that, and the amazing powers of Detective Google, I managed to track down an appropriately sized, appropriately-colored bunny.  It arrived yesterday and I pulled it out of the box and marveled at the not-slubbed-together-with-milk-&-other-unidentifiable-goo silky-softness of its fur, the brightness of its non-scratched eyes.  Henry saw it and his face lit up (Bunny usually doesn’t leave his bedroom, because if it’s bedtime and Bunny is nowhere to be found, there is screaming, ranting hell to pay.  So not worth it. And here we were at the breakfast table and here is Bunny! Oh Joy! Oh Bliss!)  He reached for it and so I gave it to him. He clutched it to his chest, melodramatically.  Then he stared down in horror, held the new bunny out at arm’s length, and then dropped it to the ground.

And he looked at me.  No, he glared at me.”That is Not. My. Bunny.” his accusing look was obviously saying.  “You think I’m stupid just because I’m a baby and I eat lint and dog biscuits if you don’t stop me?”

Every morning we’ve been going through the same routine. He sees Imposter-Bunny at the breakfast table, swoops him up in an impossibly adorable baby-hug, then drops him like a middle-school BFF as soon as he realizes that Not-Bunny is, well, not Bunny.

Except when Nellie gets hold of Not-Bunny. Because even though Not-Bunny is not worth, you know, loving on or anything, it’s still too close a relation to Real-Bunny for the dog to be allowed to pounce it.  So here I am, no better off in the bunny department than I was a week ago, only now there’s another baby vs. Nellie bone of contention to wrangle over.

I’ve started sleeping with Not-Bunny, in an attempt to imbue it with some of that magical mommy-smell that Henry loves so much, hoping it’ll kick-start the adoption process much the same way that an airborne culture of wild yeast gets a new batch of sourdough bubbling.  And in the meantime?

In the meantime, I realized that I’m totally hoarding Bunny.  Yep, that’s me. I’m a bunny-hoarder. I’ve become one of those moms who have spare toys so their darling-dear won’t be upset in case of a bad toy-accident.  And I’m feeling so smug about it, that I’m thinking I might keep an eye open for a replacement “Cat-Cat” (Yeah, we’re really creative with names around here.)

I know, I know. I missed writing you a letter last month, Henry.  I am a bad mama.  Fortunately, you’re not yet saying ‘Mama’ or I’d feel as guilty as anything. Actually, my ‘we were traveling and thanks to you, I hadn’t slept in 4 days by this time last month’ excuse is still feeling pretty watertight, and I don’t mind presenting it to you for your inspection.  See?  I was totally justified.

But this month?

This month we’re home from traveling, and darn it if you aren’t just the cutest little boy.  No, really.  It just keeps getting better, being your mama, getting to watch you grow & learn and become this little opinionated human.  You hold my hand all the time now. When you need to get past something scary like the Dustbuster, or when some neighbor’s leaf-blower is worrying you, your little hand creeps up and grabs mine.  Kid, I would protect you from a tiger when you do that, let alone a piddling little Dustbuster.  Seriously, you make my old, crusty heart just overflow with protectiveness when you do that.

Hugs have also been a favorite with you.  In the middle of playing, you’ll stop and hug whatever body part is nearest you, before continuing on your way with hardly a pause.  Again with the sweet.  Oh my.

So what’s changed in the last 2 months since your birthday? Other than the talking; the love of hiding behind things too patently small to hide you; the running; the 6 new teeth; the hair-long-enough-that-you-probably-need-a-haircut; the drawing; the animal sounds; the eating of everything in your path; the humming; the playing-quietly-in-a-playpen-while-Momma-finishes-her-coffee-in-the-morning; the new big boy shoes with soles; the learning to climb stairs while holding onto the railing; the love of hot-air-vents; the dancing; the flirting with everyone; the carrying of storm-downed branches that are 12′ long all over the yard (yes, I DID measure one of them. Wow, you’re strong!) the gifts of leaves, twigs, and other assorted woody products that make every trip outside like Christmas for me.

Seriously, baby boy, if you’re reading this some time in the future, I hope you still know how much your mama loves you, and I hope this letter gives you some inkling of how much I loved you today, when you were still small enough to scoop up in my arms and kisskisskiss until you squealed with happiness.

This next month is going to have some challenges in it.  Thanksgiving is coming up–which will be wonderful, but will also mean sleeping in a bed in the same room as Mommy & Daddy.  Be brave.  (And, oh, please, be quiet!) I think you can do it.  It’s going to bring us a trip to Manhattan for your big sister’s engagement party.  Your first fancy-dress party, coupled with past-your-bedtime. I’m interested to see how you handle it.  And, of course, it’s the month leading into your first (well, your second, but the first time you’ll have even the tiniest clue what’s going on) Christmas.  It’ll mean more traveling, but it’ll also mean more opportunities to see your family, who love you as much as you love them.

And it will mean you getting that much bigger, that much older, that much more of a little boy & less of a baby.  And while that’s a good thing, and I’m delighted to see you growing up so strong and healthy and independent and feisty, it also breaks my heart because I want this time in my life to last forever.  You make me so happy, little boy: so happy, so contented, so completely convinced that I have done the world a favor by bringing you into it.

Mama loves you. (Boo!)

So Henry’s first word is absolutely ‘Daddy’. He uses it often, on command as well as for his own purposes, and he knows who he–and everyone else–is referring to by the word.  And my feelings weren’t too much hurt, because, hey, how can I  be bitter, since he was talking about the man we both love to distraction?

‘Nellie’ (or, more accurately ‘Neh-neh’) is his second.  Again, ditto with the criteria, and I suppose I can’t really blame him–he’s been fascinated with the dog since she tried to carry him away by the nape of his newborn neck.  Ever since then, he’s certainly spent much of his conscious life trying to get her attention.

But his third word should certainly  be ‘Mama’ – right? I mean, I’m the one who loves him beyond all measure, is responsible for him 23/7, bore him in my aching body for 9 months, delivered him into the world via much pain and suffering, etc.  Obviously his third word will be “Mommy” or some variant thereof, right?

Hell no.

Folks, we’re looking at the exclamation: “Boo!” being the official 3rd word.  Last night with friends, he discovered the joys of peekaboo when someone hides behind a closed door and pops out, shouting ‘Boo!’.  He would have played that game all night, I think. And indeed, on the way home, he kept trying to extend the game even though he was so tired he was nodding off mid-attempt.

“Boo!” he’d yell, and then giggle madly, waiting for me to be surprised by his ‘Boo’ing out of nowhere.   ‘Boo!’ he murmured as I was patting him to sleep this morning for his nap.  After I ‘boo’ed him back he smiled and settled down, assured that I remembered how to play the best game in the world.  In fact, I’m sure everyone will be playing it after lunch–Henry, Daddy, Nellie, and that nameless and utterly nondescript person who takes care of him sometimes…

Sniff. (Would changing my name to ‘Boo’ be too obviously desperate a measure?)

Flowers are, apparently, too mundane (and hard to come by in NH in November) for the baby boy to give as gifts.  Instead, he brings me leaves.

Not, you understand, the flaming red & orange & yellow leaves that are still clinging to a few trees & shrubs.  I’ve been showing him those for the last month or so, and he accepts the ones I show him very solemnly, but then goes back to his own preferences.  He brings me brown leaves–from oak and maple and even rhodos and dogwood.  His criteria seems to be less about the color or shape and more about the existence of a long stem to twirl them with.

And he hands each one to me very seriously, after carefully choosing the perfect leaf out of the thousands of leaves on our driveway.  And when he finds a better one than the one I’m currently holding, he takes mine away and replaces it with a clearly superior long-stemmed dead, brown leaf.

And then he smiles up at me like he knows he’s just given me everything I will ever want. Which, of course, he has.

I will never look at brown, crunchy autumn leaves in quite the same way again.  They are, you know, the most wonderful things in the world.

Seriously, you didn’t think I was going to be able to resist posting today, did you? With that nice 3-11s date staring at me, just BEGGING to be used in a title?

Almost-14 months is proving to be an absolutely adorable time in Henry’s life.  He’s gotten very affectionate–random hugs throughout the day melt my heart, even when he’s being obstinate or whiny.  And grabbing my hand to lead me where he wants me–whether it’s for bravery assistance in walking past the Dust Buster, or whether he’s in his high chair & his daddy isn’t feeding him cereal quickly enough, having my attention demanded so sweetly is pretty irresistible.

It’s getting on toward the end of our first week at home without Baby Signing Time videos.  Since the trip weaned him off some of his other habits–9 o’clock bottles, etc.–and since I’d really like him to start using more spoken words than signs at this point, now that I know he can, I decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to try to keep from re-establishing his ‘Rachel’ addiction at this point. We’ll probably replace the DVDs when I see them come up relatively cheaply on eBay, but I’m so angry with myself for losing them in the first place that I can’t bear the thought of just running out & replacing them–especially when he doesn’t seem to be missing them too acutely. He’s signing something like 50 signs regularly and more-or-less accurately, and I’m torn between thinking ‘they’ve done what we needed them to do–maybe we’re finished?’ and ‘how cool for him to keep stretching his brain picking up vocab from two different languages!’  We’ll see.

What else? The baby’s eating like a champion hog.  Anything–particularly anything green–he sees someone else eating is something he wants to try, too.  So far, salad dressing & tomato sauce (oddly, given his love of raw tomatoes) seem to be his only dislikes.  Most everything else is a great big Win! as far as he’s concerned.  Asparagus, grapes (oh, man does he love grapes!), sandwiches, burritos, spicy chicken tikka masala, sausage, sweet potato, raisin bran, toast, Chinese food, soup: it’s all good!

Got the page proofs for the anthology with my first published fiction, our pub. date is set for March, and I’m rather more excited than a single published story should really warrant–”The Modern Fae’s Guide to Surviving Humanity”–it should be over in the sidebar for anyone who wants to pre-order from Amazon   Seriously, I’ve read most of the stories in it now, and the collection really is quite nice if you like this sort of thing.  However, a warning: mine deals with babies, stillbirth, motherhood, and nursing (hey, what a shocker, eh?)  It was written just a few days after Henry was born, when all the fears of delivery were still pretty raw. Might not be fun reading for a lot of us, so I promise not to be offended if you decide to take a pass on it, ok?

Let’ s see, other news? Not much. My birthday was lovely. Lobster & angel food cake & a showing of one of my very favorite movies in the whole world–”Up”.  And Henry was great all day, and The Boy was wonderful, and although birthdays aren’t usually my favorite days ever, this one was pretty wonderful.  Plus–my best present?

Crummy picture, but for you youngsters out there, it’s a real library card catalog. With paper cards that you either type shelf-locations & other cataloging data on, or (if you’re a total geek like me) you use a fountain pen to do the same for that REAL old-timey look.  The glasses-sliding-down-her-nose librarian in me is just losing her mind with quiet excitedness.  A cataloging project to keep me busy for years!

And the rain has stopped, though the mousey-exodus from outside in the fields to inside in my pantry has  just begun.  We’re seriously considering bringing a cat or two into our happy little family in the hopes that it will decide that mouse-catching is the best. game. ever.  But having had cats most of my life, I know that finding the perfect mouser can be a crapshoot.  Nellie is, of course, too genteel to be bothered, even when the little bastids are eating all her food overnight.  Plus, while she’s completely blase about cats who don’t run away from her, I worry that bringing a cat into the house who wasn’t raised with dogs might run terrified, thereby provoking her into chasing it. And with hunting dogs (however lackadaisical they may normally be), provoking a hunting instinct against another pet is just begging for tragedy. So we’d want a stupidly brave kitten, except I don’t actually really like kittens, even though I adore most cats.

Also, the thought of getting a Nellie-friend in the form of another sight-hound is appealing (I really don’t know how we’re ever going to travel again if we can’t find a way for the Princess to remain calm while we’re away. She lost WAY too much weight on this trip, and she was with us for all but five days.) I’m thinking that with a buddy in doggie-jail/exile with her, she might not pine so much, and whippets are notoriously fond of their packmates. But I also can’t imagine another whippet’d be much better at hunting mice than she is. They’d just take up MORE room on the bed…

I confess I’ve been tempted to look into adopting another blue heeler. My first dog was a chow/heeler mix & the best mouser (as well as the best dog) I’ve ever even heard of. But I’m not sure how a herding dog’s rather intense personality would mesh with Nellie’s rather laid-back personality. And the last thing I’d want is for Nellie to be less happy with an addition to the household than she is as a singleton.  And, you know, it might have been the chow-y part of her that made my first dog such a rodent-hunter extraordinaire.  And I’m not about to get another chow with a baby in the house.

So that’s it.  We’re gearing up for winter, settling into the new wake-up-in-the-dark routine, and trying to pick up our writing/working lives where we left off.

11/11/11, you’re supposed to bring good luck to all endeavors begun on this day, but honestly? I don’t know how I could get any more lucky than I already am.

Happy Corduroy Day, everyone! And may good luck follow you throughout the year whatever you’re wearing today.

And boy, does it ever feel good!

The trip was wonderful, but too long, and we’re coming up on holiday season which mandates a lot of traveling for us, since the Boy’s daughters live three (four? How does one calculate this?) states away.

But it’s wonderful to be home, sleeping well & easily all through the night.

I’m getting caught up on housekeeping errands, tidying, uploading, unpacking/laundering/mending/replacing everything from the trip, cooking, and generally feeling more on top of my life than I have since, oh, the middle of October.

So in that spirit, here are the photos I promised–sadly, stupidly, I didn’t actually get any photos of Henry with my parents or grandmother.  I guess when we were visiting I was too wrapped up in being with them to think of photographing them, and now I’m kicking myself for that oversight.

But.  Here’s what I’ve got.

My view from the backseat looking forward:

My view from the backseat looking to the left (and that’s the colors & shapes book I made for his birthday.  At home it’s kind of boring, but he was riveted by it in the car–perhaps because it made such a nice pillow?):

Here’s Henry’s favorite part of the San Diego Zoo (boy after my own heart!) — “Goats!!!”

And here’s Daddy’s favorite part of the zoo, “Bears!”:

And, Halloween with my brother, who graciously lent Henry the wonderful Halloween costume my mother made him when he was 3 or so.

As you can see, Henry was not super-thrilled about the hat…

I didn’t take a single picture on the way home because, you know, that would have taken TIME that would have been better served by driving.  Damn, I’m happy to be home.

And now we’re settling back in and ready to take on the newest adventure, which seems to be Henry’s new interest in talking.  He’s consistently saying ‘Dada’ or ‘Dadi’ now, and ‘Nenenene’ for Nellie.  Still no ‘mama’, except for when he’s distressed.  He is, however, getting extremely snuggly.  I get spontaneous hugs & kisses throughout the day and really? I can wait to hear the word when I’m getting compensation like that!

Today we’re off to the blood lab for another attempt at getting blood out of his arm and into a vial.  I anticipate feeling like a monster as I hold down my child while they ream out the inside of his elbow with a giant needle.  They’d better find a vein this time, is all I have to say about it.

In other news, I’m officially no longer on ‘extended maternity leave’, but am no longer an employee of the library.  And I’m turning 42 tomorrow, (lordy, lordy, lordy, how did that happen???) And it’s shaping up into another gorgeous November day in New Hampshire.  70* and sunny!  Yes!  This is why I moved to New England!  /sarcasm> Seriously, I’m delighted by this beautiful weather, if a bit unnerved by it.  Be cold soon enough, I suppose…

And I guess that’s about it.

Have I mentioned how happy I am to be home?