But... I Love Him...

Neeps recently transitioned from the infant to the toddler classroom at daycare, which makes him the youngest one of about ten kids.  The other children are pretty enamored of him, mispronouncing his name as "Cheeps" (obviously not actually, but it translates pretty well) and generally being pretty cute about their adoration of "the baby".  I didn't realize quite how deep the fascination ran, however, until the other morning when I subbed in for Nathan to drop Neeps off before work.

I walked into the classroom, Neeps on my hip, and said, "Hi guys!" to the toddlers who saw me.  One by one their faces lit up and they started saying, "Cheeps!"  "Cheeps!" and swarming towards us.  I, failing to see the frantic signaling of the warden- er, teacher- put Neeps down on the ground to be with them.  They immediately mobbed him like sharks on chum, and the teacher waded in saying, "Friends, friends, give him space!"  I, amused by the spectacle, moved to put his stuff in his cubby, only to turn back when I heard a shriek of frightened indignation.

The swarm had literally cornered my son, who was now crying loudly with fear and rage.

"Okay buddy," I said, and plucked him out of their grasping little paws.  "Hey guys, hold back a sec and let him adjust."  The children looked up at me, wide-eyed and pleading, and one little curly-haired girl said wistfully, "But... I love him..."

"I understand, sweetheart: I love him, too.  But he needs some space to feel comfortable."

Needless to say, "But... I love him..." is now A Phrase around our household.  (Also we've decided that, given his natural charisma, he's probably going to be a cult leader when he grows up.)

The Presence of Presents

Christmas is nearly two weeks off, but already my son has ten or eleven presents under the newly-erected tree (and one in the car, because we got him a car seat; likely to be the most expensive Christmas present he will ever get from us).  Nathan and I, on the other hand, have about five presents between us maybe (one of them is unmarked, so it got voted for us over him.)  I get the feeling this will be the typical ratio for the next seventeen years or so.

I'm not complaining, mind you!  I love that people love the Little Gentleman so much they want to demonstrate it with loot.  But I'm just saying that Santa might need to bring Jenny O a new house in a few years, to hold all of said loot...

Evolution of Cool(/Warm)

There were many wonderful things about living a large chunk of my childhood in Alaska-

Having to wear long underwear was not among them.

Such was my disdain for the trials of beige, waffle-weave "long-johns" that I found Ellen Tebbits to be even more relate-able than Ramona.  (Although at least my set wasn't woolen- the horrors!)  I didn't miss them at all when we moved to Alabama.  Of course, that was right about the time people started wearing them under t-shirts, meant to be flaunted rather than hidden in shame (hello Grunge). Interestingly enough, no one really seemed to wear the pants half of the set. As for myself, I kept my trendiness restricted to flannel; I'd worn long underwear because I'd had to, and not even the gods of fashion were going to drag me back in to them.

As an adult who now lives in a temperate climate, where truly cold days are restricted to maybe a month's worth per year, I no longer have to wear long underwear.  And I don't.

I wear a Base Layer, you guys.  Which, it occurred to me today, is just long underwear re-branded for cool outdoorsy kids.  To make matters worse, my base layer is made of- you guessed it- wool.  Merino wool.  The hands-down best material from which to make base layers- and priced accordingly.  Like, to the point where I was genuinely super stoked to receive a set as a Christmas gift, because no way was I going to justify spending that on myself.

(Seriously, ten-year-old me is puking right now.)

Stumbling Upon a Secret Place

Neeps and I went for a hike this morning, in spite of the rain.  I've always loved hiking in the rain (so long as I have appropriate gear) because you generally get the trail to yourself.  Also let's face it: there's just something magical about the forest soaked in liquid silver.

A gateway to another world, PROBABLY.

I decided to do a short hike- less than 1.5 miles- because now that Neeps is a Master Toddler, I wanted him to do some of the trail under his own power.  So I figured a quick out-and-back, ending with him doing the last 30 yards or so.

Now, I'm not sure what exactly happened, but somehow we ended up Not On the Trail.  I mean, we were on a trail, but not the trail, and moreover the trail that we were on definitely wasn't an official trail.  But it was a trail, so I figured what the heck- might as well see where it led.

Turns out it led to something pretty freaking awesome:

That's right, a damn Fairy Pavilion.

It was a beautiful, magical, secret sort of place, and I was beside myself with delight for having discovered it in the company of my son.  We wandered all around it, noting the fire pit and the decaying rope swing and the places where someone had attempted to shore up the roof, which had rotted through in the center for perfect star-gazing.  It looked like it had been abandoned for years and years, but this being the PNW (where all things bow down to Mistress Creeping Green), it's more likely only been one or two.

Eventually we headed back, and I hauled Neeps down to do some toddling.  He stumped around in the woods for a bit, and then retraced everything he'd done at top speed after a dog passed (he wanted to pet that dog so badly).  I carried him back to where he'd turned around, and then he walked some more.  Finally he was tired enough that he was falling down more than walking, so I carried him the final piece back to the car.

It was a good day.

Days and Years (or: The Photo Album)

the days are long
but the years are short

that is what they said to me

(that is what i say
to myself)

one by one
i place the days
into the months
of this past year

(such a tiny fraction
of my own life)

but i remember
placing the minutes
into the hours
of those days

(since you first drew breath)

and they were an endless chain

Greetings

Outside:  I'm so sorry this happened...

Inside: ...unless you're not.  Either way, let's get drinks.

***

Outside: I know a card doesn't really help at a time like this...

Inside: ...just consider it a tangible token of my futile desire to provide comfort in a crap situation.

***

Outside: Congratulations!

Inside: Dibs on your old clothes.

***

Outside: You lucky bastard.

Inside: (And I mean that in the most sucking-up way possible.)




(create a greeting card for a divorce/lost pet/gender reassignment surgery/winning the lottery)

Chance of Snow

I got out just in time.