You talking to me?

It's a delight to see Henry developing new linguistic & cognitive tricks: Just lately, we are awash in metaphors. The snow was a blanket on a heap of dried grass this morning (a tired cliche from me, but from Henry, fresh and apt); when it fell yesterday afternoon, it looked like spider webs. With each bite of a corn chip today, he held it up afresh to decide what it looked like: a moon! a shoe! an angel! a ghost! a boat!

I particularly enjoyed his employment this morning of a different poetic device: personification.

He rushed into the bathroom, proclaiming he needed help unzipping his pajamas so he could poop. He then asked me to leave him alone, as he usually does. But just a minute or two later, he popped back into the kitchen.

"Are you done?" I asked, surprised.

"I thought I needed to poop," he said, "But my butt said, 'no thank you.'"

Economics 101

Monday mornings are hard for Henry. After two whole days of Daddy, he hates waking up to realize that Peter has gone to work. Almost every week we have some version of this conversation:

HENRY: I want Daddy to BE here!
ME: Daddy is at work.
HENRY: I don't WANT Daddy to go to work.
ME: I know. But Daddy has to go to work.
HENRY: Whyyyy?
ME: To get money. Daddy makes money for us to buy our food and pay for our house and heat our house and drive our car.
HENRY (happy now): And for me to throw in fountains! (Thinks for a bit.) And for James when he gets bigger to throw in fountains!

Better keep your nose to the grindstone, Peter.

That was the month that was

October, obviously, was a lost month as far as the blog is concerned. In brief, I turned 40, the Law School held its memorial for Dad, and our next-door neighbor got shot. In an ordinary year, I love October, and even this rather rotten iteration of it had its charms. But even those are mostly undocumented, because also this October, our computer was infected on two separate occasions with a virus that is even now keeping me from getting to the photos I'd like to post.
That being so, I will, for now, simply report that the month got off to a grand start when Henry received two pieces of personal mail--his first-ever letters--on the same day. Complete text follows.

From Henry & James's dog-cousin in San Diego, in reply to a letter Henry sent:
Henry!
I am under the table, waiting for dinner. What do you eat for dinner? I eat hard pellets. They taste like fish.
I went to the beach today. I ran and ran and barked and ran and ran and jumped and ran and ran and swam! Then I had a bath.
I hate baths! Do you like baths?
Love, Abby (the dog)
P.S. I know you can't read, so here's a picture: [you'll just have to use your imaginations here] <--- I rescued the ball from a giant wave! There were also birds.

From Ballantine Road, in response to momentous events:
Darling Henry,
Hello Sweetie. Congratulations on going poopoo in the potty. Wonderful and great job. We all love you. Love Auntie Virginia
Congratulations! Love, Eleanor
Will
Grandmama