More words

It's hard to convey the effect of richocheting through a day from Precious Moment to incandescent rage (never mind whose) and back again, perhaps ten times or more before lunch. I only mention it because when I tell stories about dear things James & Henry do--by far the easiest sort of vignette to write down quickly during a rare moment of quiet--I am leaving out SO MUCH--good, bad, and ugly. (This is very good on the subject.)

So, for example, in between this morning's two blog posts, Henry spent 20 minutes first shrieking, then subsiding into a long, slow whine because I used his spoon to stir James's yogurt. He also tugged so hard on a curtain that he bent the rod irretrievably in two places, and he is currently lobbing wooden blocks from the front of the house against the back door, which I am (obviously) ignoring. I haven't yet had the stomach for suggesting he get dressed, which inevitably leads to tears and raised voices. But five minutes ago, when I went to check on them, the boys were sitting on the floor, heads together, lining up all the train cars and giggling.

So anyway, that happened. And then this happened:

Henry helped me make Super Jello for breakfast this morning. Afterwards, I found him curled up on a sofa cushion, pretending to be asleep.
"Tired, sweetie?" I asked.
"The applesauce was soporific," he said.
I laughed so much he didn't stop saying soporific for the next 10 minutes. Thanks again for the laffs, Beatrix Potter.

Inclusive language

Henry: I'm making a little nest for Jamie & I.
Me (scandalized--where does he pick up this language??): You mean "for Jamie & me"!
Henry: OK, mama, you can be in the nest too.