What I'm Into- October 2013

This is the part of the month where I get to look back on what I ate, read, watched, listened to, loved, and whatever else, thanks to Leigh Kramer's link-up. It's fun; you should try it!

Happenings

• Ricky and I celebrated eight years of marriage. We found a great babysitter using Care.com (which I must say is a great option for people who just moved thousands of miles and gave up two amazing babysitters back home) and went to see Over the Rhine in Alexandria, Virginia. It was such a treat. I already professed my love for Over the Rhine in last month's post, but they are truly amazing to see live. Some people sound better on their album; not them. They absolutely fill up the space with the most gorgeous, full sound and it feels like an otherworldly experience. 
• I've been going to the gym twice a week. This is a big deal. There's a gym within walking distance of our house that offers two hours of childcare per day, so really it's a win-win for us. The kids get excited to go see "gym buddies" and I get to work out on a regular basis. I'm starting small as to not scare myself away (that's how these things work for me), but I'd like to move up to three days eventually. It feels good.
• I've been writing more. I have a new project in the works that I'm really excited to share.
• We're looking for a church community. It's been slow-going, but there are few more on my "list" that I'd like to try out. Honestly, the sheen of living in a new place is wearing off, and I'm feeling the loneliness more acutely these days. We have a little joke about our new town--when we can't find something, it's just "hidden in the trees" because, well, there are just so many trees here compared to the desert we came from. So, I hope that our place, whatever it may be, is simply hidden in the trees and we haven't found it yet.

Reading

• I so enjoyed the memoir When We Were on Fire by Addie Zierman. I laughed, cried, and nodded all the way through it. 
• I took my time with All is Grace by Brennan Manning with John Blase, processing the difficulty of his story . It's a sad book, in a way, but also one of the most encouraging things I've read in some time. Grace is a mystery we try too hard to explain, I think. I have some more thoughts on this book that I'm trying to form into a post.
• I'm in the middle of The Myth of a Christian Nation: How the Quest for Political Power is Destroying the Church by Greg Boyd. I've wanted to start reading some of his books, and this seemed a good place to start. I hope to have some thoughts to share on that too. He addresses things that have bothered me for some time, but also challenges some preconceived notions that I realize I still have. It's a stretching read.
• Sarah Bessey's Jesus Feminist, which comes out next week, is definitely on my list for November and I've also been wanting to read Carry on Warrior by Glennon Melton. 

Eating

I'm back in a good cooking routine, making dinner every weeknight and usually one big meal on the weekends. When I was working night shifts earlier this year, I pretty much lost the will to cook; there was just no enjoyment in spending the time, and cleaning the mess, unless maybe I had a long string of days off and a wee extra bit of energy. I needed things to be as simple as possible. So, it's been nice to rediscover the catharsis of stirring, tasting, seasoning, and smelling at the close of the day, as the sun sets, or the thrill of throwing something in the crockpot at ten in the morning and knowing dinner's done. My favorites this month:

• Butternut squash lasanga made using a sauce with pureed cooked squash and thickened milk, with lots of warm spices.
• Pasta with the same sauce from the lasagna, with Italian sausage and cooked spinach, sprinkled with parmesan. Better than mac & cheese, in my opinion.
• Sweet and Spicy Chicken Drumsticks and oven roasted broccoli--just cut up a head of broccoli, toss it in a bowl with olive oil, salt, pepper, and shredded parmesan, and roast on a cookie sheet at 425 degrees for 12 minutes or so. Even the kids devoured it, much to my happy surprise.

Listening

• Tiny Desk Concerts! Do you know about these? I recently discovered them and think they're so fun. My favorites so far are: Basia Bulat, Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, The Civil Wars, and The Lone Bellow.

Watching

• This time of year, I just want to watch the Harry Potter movies. Ricky and I did the closest thing we could to a marathon by watching all of them in about two weeks. We may have been a little giddy about it.
• We also discovered the show Scandal. It's a fun political drama that's pretty well-written, even if the central romantic relationship is kind of ridiculous. Anyway, it's a good watch-together show. 
• We've been having living room floor picnics and introducing the kids to "old" movies on Friday nights: E.T., Disney's Aladdin, Lady and the Tramp, Robin Hood, and Home Alone (which was pretty inappropriate for our kids. I did not remember some of that stuff. Oops.) I want to do The Sound of Music, but I don't know if they'll sit for it just yet. 

So that's my October. How was yours?

flying

“You seemed so far away," Miss Honey whispered, awestruck.

"Oh, I was. I was flying past the stars on silver wings," Matilda said. "It was wonderful.” 

-Roald Dahl, Matilda.

sentimental

Both the biggest challenge and the biggest reward of my life is to look for God in it. Here are some of the things that fill my days and nights: cyclical chores and tasks, folding still-tiny onesies and then cargo pants with a new knee-hole each week, an alarm clock that goes off at six am or two pm depending on the day, a fan in a cool room where I sit and blink it all away. I move through some days smack full of wonder. I cannot believe their eyelashes, his steadfast way with them, the way I'm so happy for them to have such a father, the overwhelming beauty of upturned dirt and baby green sprouting.

Spring always does this to me, even though this year I was starting to wonder if it would happen, after months of wind and tired. Some nights, I drive off to the hospital and make more work for myself, by choice, something I can't really explain. I hold hands and coach breathing and try to keep up: two months ago I was a snail and now I'm something like a marching ant. Cheetah is the goal, I'm pretty sure. But we're getting there. It's a dream, but it's filled with startling reality; nothing and yet everything to get sentimental about. Babies are born, and maybe I don't cry each time anymore but when a new mother wanted a picture with me it made my week.

What made my week this week: my baby girl waved and smiled at me during therapy on Monday. It just about did me in. I have memories inscribed in me of the sweet times I've spent with each of my babies, just the two of us. Now it's our turn, she and I, to sit in the grass together and speak our own little language. Something clicks and you realize how precious it all is.

I might be embarrassed about feeling so much, if it wasn't the thing that has saved me and keeps doing so.

therapy

Before the therapists come over, I hurriedly dress everyone, wipe crusty breakfast remnants of little faces, brighten up my tired face and put on something that says "I plan to accomplish something today." I wipe fingerprints off tables. I relegate clutter to it's rightful home, or at least a different room. I sit and feed Little Miss, or I think of ways to entertain Silas (she's inevitably hungry right when they arrive, and he's inevitably clingy the entire time they're here).

It's all a little unsettling, a little like a performance, but I try to resist that. I voice my concerns, I sing her praises. I pry Silas off my neck. I listen and nod.

When they leave, I am usually overwhelmed by my new to-do list. Today, it's more formula per ounce of water, olive oil, avocado, probiotics. It's massaging open those tiny clenched fists, encouraging sitting and exploration, always  pushing her forward. Pushing.

We're pushing ourselves along, looking around to make sure all of us are keeping up.

today's things are for today

faith-full or faithless

numb or still

kind or angry-to-my-core

and I am always tunneling, toward or away

contradiction-

grace the biggest one of all:

every day i need

you to step in and save

me

from myself

today's things are for today,

they will expire

but I still try to stack them up in a closet, so

tomorrow I can just be needless

but

I am here, and so, still is my anger

my not-enough feelings

my humanity

and the grace-filled moments look

different that I thought they would

Still learning.....

still, learning.

We don't do this alone.

You incline, and hear my cry

every day I call out, in some way

every day you answer, in some way

I just stand and watch my babies, amazed by

all that hope running around

little rib-cages, arms reaching up

the weight slowly settles on our shoulders;

you reach down and lift it off

every day, glory.

*Psalm 40 inspired

balance

It's 9:18 in the morning. I've come to dread the mid-morning hours lately. It's usually when Little Miss is falling apart, needing a nap but of course she doesn't know that. So I rock and sway, and shush-shush-shush and make my figure eights (to help her cerebellum develop, my friend tells me. All these things we instinctively do with babies have a purpose). But, today, look! Maybe I was less tense and frustrated, and she could feel that and so she just went to sleep instead of fighting so, so hard. And my boys are shirtless, eating popcorn and doing Sunday morning things (inside, outside, building robots, watching the mesmerizing Pingu on Neflix and leaning back on Penny). I am filled with love and new energy.

Life is very one-day-at-a-time right now, and I'm getting to be okay with that. A few days a week, I'm at work--getting to do amazing things like teach about breastfeeding and wheel families out of the hospital with their new little person. Other days, it's taking care of an elderly woman after a heart cath or making sure my patient who's withdrawing for the fifteenth time has what she needs and doesn't harm herself. It's twelve hours of safeguarding. Some days it's a break to be there.

But then I love being here too. It's taken time to figure out this new rhythm--for a while there I entertained the thought of just quitting my job for a season. And, if that need became apparent I would do it easily. But I've realized that it might be a sanity-saver for me--I go out, challenge myself in a different way than I'm challenged here, and it helps. I love coming home to everyone, all happy and ragged from their Papa day--and his eyes are so tired and we both get it. We're closer for it.

The home days are slow to get going, and I start off with a long to-do list and then have to prioritize as the day goes on--and even so I'm folding laundry after the kids are all asleep. The trick is the same as it's always been--stop and enjoy the gift of another glimpse into childhood. Squeeze in the chores where I can. Lower my expectations. Remember Ann Voskamp's words: life is not an emergency; it's a gift.

............

Here are some pictures of the nursery we put together just a few weeks before Little Miss came to stay with us. I'm still adding touches here and there, but I'm so glad it was mostly done before she came. Needless to say, it was fun. Spray paint and hot glue are my friends.

three weeks

Tomorrow it will be three weeks that Little Miss has been with us. We found out yesterday that her mother is waiving custody for the time being (nothing permanent at this point), so she will be with us, but we still don't know for how long. It is difficult not knowing; as is predictable we are bonding with her and making space for her in our daily routine and in our hearts.

So, this post doesn't have too much of a point but here are some random happenings:

The summer rainy season has begun. Next to fall, this is probably my favorite time of year. Such a relief from the June heat. I caught Silas playing in the rain a few days ago and took video, but he was naked so that's not appropriate for the internet I guess. Too bad; it was super cute.

This is kind of a difficult age. He's all sweetness and then screeching and swatting and throwing himself down. But so, so curious. He loves big shoes and watering plants (and concrete) and basically doing whatever I'm doing. He goes to time-out now, and when he gets out puckers up his lips to say he's ready to be nice again. He repeats everything, and he has a complicated friendship/rivalry with a Bassett Hound that mainly revolves around the sharing or witholding of food. He still drinks his milk bottle in the morning and at bedtime, with his finger in his belly button. He says "mas?" in his raspy, lispy way about a hundred times a day, and he would eat otter pops constantly if I let him. He pats his diaper and says "pee pee pee poop poop poop" when it needs to be changed, or when he's trying to stall at naptime. Nineteen months. He looks enormous next to the baby. But he's still a baby too, with lashes and cheeks and curls that slay me.

Nicky has been at his Grandma's house (my mom's) for almost two weeks. It was going to be for one week, but then his cousins were staying for two, so. I'm so ready to hug that boy and bring him home. And, selfishly, ready for him to entertain Mr. Silas a bit. There are trees to climb and sprinklers, a sandbox, a horse, goat, chickens, and three cousins to keep him busy for a few more days though. Silas likes to look at pictures of "Ditty" and points to the front door asking for him sometimes.

Life with Little Miss is challenging but good. The lack of sleep catches up with us sometimes, not to mention the exhausting nature of the situation. But as we learn more about her, we feel more for her. She's been through a lot in her short life, and will have some challenges ahead. I feel lost in this sometimes. But there are resources available and I'm resolved to take advantage of pretty much whatever I can. And pray more. And choose to go to bed early more often.

She's still fussy, but not like she was. She's more awake and alert these days. And she smiles at us--oh how that helps. She's not hating tummy time quite so much now, and she's getting stronger. Every day there are little victories along with the frustrations. Just like with any infant I suppose. She's a tiny fighter.

His mercies are new every morning. I really need that these days.

june in pictures

spiritual

I wake up rested and refreshed, and climb out of bed quietly so my sleeping children don't wake up. I make coffee and head outside to enjoy the fresh morning air while I read, think, and pray. I spend time thanking God for all I'm blessed with, I evaluate my heart and motives, I ask for forgiveness and help, I listen. I'm still. I read words that soothe, convict, encourage, inspire, break down, build up. I look up and they're awake. I smile, feeling centered and ready for the day. Off we go.

Yeah, that's my morning fantasy. Here's the reality:

I wake up because Silas is trying to put my glasses on my face. He hands me my phone, saying "lo? lo?" and I smile, blinking and sitting up. I think about coffee immediately. Ricky is leaving for work; kisses me goodbye. I hear the sounds of Superhero Squad coming from the office. I pull back my hair and head for the kitchen, heat up milk for Silas and remind Nicky that we're trying to start off the day with reading, not watching a show. "Well the day always starts with breakfast!", he proclaims, and I assure him that's coming. Penny stands at the back door. I let her out, and retrieve Silas' milk. He settles into a big chair to drink it; I pat him on the head. Nicky sits on the couch with his storybook Bible and starts to read about Joseph. I start some coffee. Silas drinks half of his bottle, throws it on the ground and climbs on top of Nicky, shuffling his pages. More protesting. Time for a diaper change. Nicky's now playing in his room. I sigh, say "Okay, we'll read later when you're less distracted." Silas plays, but when I stand up to go get my coffee and make some breakfast for everyone, he immediately starts crying. I go back. We play Ships--Nicky has built all the controls out of click-blocks. They dance around: toddler squats and robot moves. I smile and think this is so good. I get up again, they follow me. There is whining. I make toast with peanut butter and honey by request, pour orange juice, slice bananas. I stir cream into my waiting coffee, toast a bagel for myself. Silas, meanwhile, has eaten two bites and thrown the rest on the floor. All done! he signs triumphantly. I tell him he is going to sit there for a few minutes, and give him his milk to finish. I sip, and I read this:

Couldn't independence be not the ending point, but an adolescent transition period between childish dependence and mature interdependence? If we succeed in being independent, never needing God's help, couldn't that simply mean that we haven't tried anything very significant or challenging? Could it mean that we've never experienced the miracle of synergy with God, where we find God's strength flowing through us? 

"Book, book", Silas points to the ipad. I put it up high, take another sip of coffee, and let him down. Penny happily eats his leftovers. We have a doctor's appointment in two hours, but for now we're going outside to enjoy the cool morning air, water the flowers and play in the sandbox before it gets too hot for little toes. What's funny, what's God, is that I do feel soothed and convicted, encouraged and inspired, broken down and built up.

There are days, of course, when we wish there could be some other system. We wish there could be a way of developing patience without delay, courage without danger, forgiveness without offense, generosity without need, skill without discipline, endurance without fatigue, persistence without obstacles, strength without resistance, virtue without temptation, and strong love without hard-to-love people. But it turns out there is no other way. 

The Creator has created the right kind of universe to produce these beautiful qualities in us creatures. And among these beautiful qualities is interdependence--the ability to reach out beyond ourselves, to ask for help from others and from God, and to offer help when we are able. The whole shebang is rigged for mutuality, for vital connection.

I will probably yell several times today. I won't feel very spiritual. I will feel like I'm trying to sprint in a sand-dune. I will laugh, sigh, and hide in the bathroom. I'll try to keep a dialogue going with God all the while; that's the goal. Sometimes life feels like practicing, but it's the real thing, all the time.

quotes from Brian McLaren, Naked Spirituality

morning walk

It was beautiful and breezy this morning, so after we dropped Nicky off at school Silas and I went for a walk. I'm trying to incorporate exercise into life more lately, which is pretty cool since I haven't felt the need to do anything exercise-related in months (it's been a seriously lazy winter).

Fresh air is good for the soul, and I'm brimming with gratefulness for several things today. First, I heard from my mother a few days ago that the hip replacement surgery we thought was inevitable doesn't have to happen. It's pretty amazing--she's had a broken hip for months, and the way it was broken typically disrupts circulation, but it's healing properly on it's own. I'm so glad. She just has to walk a lot and build up her bones, but she gets to keep her own bones! What a relief.

And secondly I just feel so grateful to have all this space in my life, to breathe deep and be creative and spend non-stressful time with my littles. What a gift that is. Of course there are the cyclical things like housework and laundry and my incessant battle with dog hair, but seriously, right now I'm sitting with an iced coffee, blogging, while my toddler explores and plays around me, and I get to watch him discover the little things. I get the joy of putting him down for a nap, and getting him up from a nap. I have time to make things, to enjoy the fruits of my labor. It just seems like the little things--feeling the breeze on my face, preparing food, smelling bath-clean hair, reading a new book with a dog on my feet, laughing over verses in Ecclesiastes with Ricky, filling moments with music and silliness, looking forward to a square of dark chocolate with sea salt after the boys are asleep--those are gifts and I get to unwrap them everyday.

I get to inject excitement into my children's lives, to teach them gratefulness as well. There are things that are hard, like Nicky taking an hour to do one worksheet last night and consequently having no free time to play (and having to stick to my guns even though I so wanted to let him stay up later), or when Silas overturns a full basket of clean, folded laundry (happening as I write this) and the moments where I'm just wanting to accomplish something or think a full thought but I'm needed for something else--but wow, life is so sweet. And I just have to laugh as he runs around the house with my pajama pants on his head, declaring loudly in toddler-speak. I want to always remember this feeling, this windows-open, seeing the beauty, giving thanks moment. Thank you.

like a poet

Sometimes I sit with my unsettled-ness for a while. Sometimes I fling it away and run free, a happy dance of denial on my feet. Like a boomerang, it returns. Sometimes he takes it, holds it, and I rest. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you, he reminds gently. I learn to doubt my heart, not his. And he gives vision; I see a little more of that horizon. His goodness fills all the hollow spaces. His kindness makes me want to be more kind.

Like a parent who wants a child to walk, he allows me to wobble and fall, hovering close behind with arms out. Like a mother, he holds me close and whispers tenderness. Like a father, he has a big lap and a hearty laugh and when he says good job all is right and well, even when I all I want to do is be able to call mine on the phone and feel my place in the world again. Like a friend he offers his presence. Like a teacher he sets down a complicated book in front of me, gives me paper and pencil, and says wrestle with this for a bit. But if it gets to be too much, you can set it down for awhile. Like a counselor he says Go outside, laugh with your children, walk with that sweet husband, remember the broken all around you, remember my eye is on the sparrow too, call your friends. Laugh, and be broken. Love, and be broken. Eat, and be broken. Let being broken be a part of you, to where you can feel all my love for this beautiful messed up world and love it the way I do. Like a coach he says trust the process. I know how this will make you stronger.


Like the poet of poets that he is, he offers life and mystery together and when I remember his heart, there is always, always hope.

http://www.etsy.com/listing/80811849/it-is-well

bread crumbs: on being still

{bread crumbs: hints, big or small, that seem to fall in front of me just when I need them.}

I've been reading Lauren Winner's new book Still: Notes On A Mid-Faith Crisis for the past few weeks. I first discovered her in college when my room-mate lent me her memoir Girl Meets God; I still read it every other year or so. Anyway, something stuck out to me a few nights ago. One of the things she writes about is her struggle with anxiety. She decides to give up anxiety for Lent (I love the bravery of such a statement):

The desert saints said that the beginning of renouncing a thought is simply noticing it. That is what I'm doing in my quarter hours--I am noticing, and naming, and then for a few minutes, quarantining  a distraction.

But the desert fathers say something more: after noticing a thought, replace it with prayer. So that is just what I try to do to my anxiety this Lent--not just ignore it for quarter hour increments, but sidle up alongside it and pray. (89-90) 

This idea of just spending some time with anxiety (or in my case the almost paralyzing discontent that creeps up sometimes) and noticing it, then praying through it really spoke to me. I tried it yesterday. I spent some time with my discontent, asked it what it's name was. Sometimes it's just advertising telling me I don't have things that I want (turns out most of the time I don't want them, not really), or Pinterest telling me I'm not creative enough with my throw pillows or my marriage, or any number of outside sources streaming false information into my mind. It's all the same lie of not enough. So I spent some time with that lie (disguised as my feelings) and eventually it showed its ugly face. And I prayed. I held up all my feelings, true and false, asked for help, and help came in the form of peace.

But say that feeling of discontent came from something real--something that really needed to be changed or fixed, then spending time with it would reveal that as well. Sometimes discontent is just the push I need to make something happen. Most of the time, I'm finding, that is not the case. It's just the not enough lie blinding me to the blessings that surround me.

I used to think I should be harder on myself. Now I mostly try to be kinder to myself, in the hopes that the outflow will be better. God lavishes grace on me daily, and I am desperately in need of grace to lavish (or even to dole out in teaspoons, that would work.) What goes in must come out, and there is no way to be there for other people if I'm not there for myself too.

I will not run away from stillness. It is uncomfortable but it is fruitful. I love this prayer she mentions:

O God of peace, who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and in confidence shall be our strength: By the might of thy Spirit lift us, we pray thee, to thy presence, where we may be still and know that thou art God.

-from the Book of Common Prayer, 832.

i needed this.

I stand in front of the wood block board, hulling strawberries and listening to the sounds of five thirty pm. Silas climbs in and out of cabinets, spreading plastic bowls and trays on the floor, dumps out a box of plastic forks. Nicky's playing Monkey Moves, dancing around the living room. I'm enjoying the chance to cook a meal slowly, brushing butter and rosemary onto salmon, drizzling maple syrup over squash. Silas buries his face in my legs and lingers while I pat his back, then takes off again, legs lifting side to side, laughing at brother. He'll be back in two minutes to repeat the process. This is all day, this little dance we do, and some days I sigh at it but today I reveled. Papa comes home; now we're all here.

Today there is no rushing off anywhere, so we take our time eating around the table-Nicky prays thank you God for this food and for the Earth and for my parents and everybody says Amen! and Silas throws food on the floor and looks up at us for a response. Nicky tries asparagus and likes it. More and more adventurous with food, that boy. I remember when he survived on beige food only, when I was putting yellow squash in his quesadillas. Ricky runs the bath while I load the dishwasher and I hear him playing blues to them while they splash and pour. I join them, stretch out on the carpet, then slather lotion and zip up footie pajamas, laugh at Silas, lean my head on Ricky's shoulder. This.

I read out loud from Little House in the Big Woods, stopping every few sentences to explain things like kerosene lamps and lead bullet-making and panthers. Then he cleans teeth and we all say our good-nights and he says I love you to the moon and back and to the moon and back and to the moon and back. That's further than heaven, he tells me, so satisfied and safe.

right now

• resolving to try to be in more pictures with my kiddos, even if I do feel slightly ridiculous setting up the camera and running across the room and quickly attempting to look natural. It's worth being present in the family photo album, no?
• finishing up my book for January, There is No Me Without You by Melissa Fay Greene (it's been sitting on my bookshelf for the better part of a year). It's informative, inspiring, and devastating. 
• picking at Anne Lamott's book on writing, Bird by Bird. Another one that's been on the list for a good while.
• trying to decide what's more efficient: yard sale or Craigslist-ing a LOT of stuff. I'm so tired just thinking about it....
• missing my love who's on a work expedition and needs to come home already
• developing a stiff neck from folding entirely too much laundry
• relieved to be done with an evening trip to the vet with a very excited Penny and both boys and a stroller that has perpetually sideways wheels
• renewing my RN license. Two years, already.
• thinking I'll check on the littles and then call it a day. A cool pillow is calling my name....

week in phone pics

Between two shifts, three doctor's appointments, school starting again, my work holiday party, and all the usual household to-do's, this week was busy and productive. We're a few papers away from completing the foster care paperwork. I'm so excited to be done with that part and finish up the homestudy. Also exciting: I heard from a friend that her family is starting the process of foster adoption as well. 2012 has so much in store.
So it's been busy but good. I've been reading more, and getting a little craft time in too. Still feeling the newness of the year, and dreaming about the future while enjoying all this life around me.

today, tonight, tomorrow

today:
find dress shoes for Nicky
defrost treacherous ice on front walkway and driveway (slipped and fell yesterday-ouch)
do two loads of laundry
help out with centers at Nicky's school
drink coffee
make dinner
shop vac the tile
tickle Silas
find place for all the gloves taking over the house

tonight:
swoon over the cuteness at Nicky's Christmas play

tomorrow:
work at hospital

hipster snowman from Tuesday 

Sometimes you just need to document life, I guess, and this is about all there is to say today. I'm halfway through my list, so back to it! 

Just Write: Marching

Nicky's ants are on the refrigerator door, counted one by one, two by two, ten by ten. He gets to be student of the day tomorrow, and that always includes a special homework project. Today was an on-call day, and it felt stolen; the best kind of day. A little bit of productivity, a lot of connection. We've had dinner, and the baby's sleeping, and there's a coffee cup in front of me. Ricky plays blues guitar, and Nicky sings along in his little voice I love my baby, heart and soul, coloring in his Dinosaur Train book. It's dark out at 7:30. Brown bear, brown bear book props up my laptop to keep it from overheating. The after-dinner glow is one of my favorite things about this time of year. It's different from summer, when you squeeze in as much day as possible, and outside beckons with it's breezes and clouds. Now, I just want inside, and a crochet needle, and the feeling of my family all around, cozy. The promise of a chilly morning and coaxing the boy out of bed with promises of hot chocolate, gloves on fingers for the drive to school, quick errands before morning nap-time, and the sometimes-giddy feeling of really? I get to do this again today? looms ahead.