Catching up

Saturday was beautiful, if blustery, and Peter was moved to undertake a backyard project with Henry.

The starter teepee.

This first attempt was so successful that Peter decided to build a bigger one. The canvas didn't quite reach all the way around, but it went far enough to give a pleasantly fort-like feeling, perfect for napping on a mild Sunday afternoon.

Maybe a yurt is next.

Meanwhile, both boys & I are suffering through colds: a first for James. We three seem to mind being sick in proportion to our experience. James just burbles & beams through the snot. Henry was out of sorts for a day, when he had a fever of 103, but is otherwise irrepressible. I, however, stagger around like a tubercular soprano, brandishing my neti pot & sodden hankies like so many camellias.

Which is why I really ought to put myself to bed.

He still doesn't understand why we were laughing so hard

This morning, Mom was here for Henry's ritual climb into James's co-sleeper. My two sweet babies lay there looking up at us, like this:

"Look!" said Henry. "Mama and Debby have hairy balls!"*

*Read this, if you need an explanation. And meet my impertinent husband, if you need an explanation for why Henry might call his grandmother Debby.

Reader, I married him

SCENE: The children's department  at the Monroe County Public Library
Henry is working a puzzle, something he has quite recently become good at. A somewhat bigger little boy, red-haired, comes up and looks at Henry's work. "That puzzle over there is a lot harder," he says casually, indicating the other side of the table. "But I can do it. I've memorized it." He proceeds to sit down and work on the harder puzzle, encountering unforeseen difficulty in putting it together after all. As he struggles, a grown man looking on--a man fully 10 times as old as the red-headed child--is simply unable to contain himself. "Hey," he says, accusingly. "I thought you said you memorized it!"
Now, I'm not naming names here. If you were to guess that Henry's father is the man in question, I could only say: You might very well think that. I couldn't possibly comment.

Today, I've been...
Reading: This excellent series in Slate about what grief is like. Also, Illness as Metaphor, which I'm finding disappointing, I'm not sure why.
Eating: Ice cream AND chocolate, as soon as Henry was safely in the bathtub. Oh, the secret lives of grown-ups!
Enjoying: Hearing Henry say "Charles Darwin," the name of Mom & Virginia's beagle. It makes me appreciate the amusement Mom must have derived from teaching me to play Authors as a preschooler, and hearing me issue my lisping requests for "Charge of the Light Brigade, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson."
Not enjoying as much as I used to: Boilerplate British costume dramas. Boo. I hate it when cheap fun isn't fun anymore.

Today

A couple of my favorite people

More things Henry says

"James has a lot of talks in his mouth."
 Self-explanatory.

"That's your baby."
 Said in tones of insinuating sweetness when he is climbing up on my lap for a hug.

"Because he eats lots of red food and drinks lots of red drinks, like wine." 
Henry's explanation for why Elmo is red.

The oenophile

Roll over, Linnaeus

Henry's taxonomy:
"James's head is like a tennis ball. Henry's head is like a softball. Daddy's head is like a soccer ball. Mama's head is like a hairy ball."

Henry & a hairy neighbor

Too perfect not to post

Otherwise, I am not feeling very festive.
Maybe this is a good moment to remember the day I first introduced Peter to Dad. He had asked for parent-pleasing tips beforehand. "Just don't start spouting off about the constitution," I said. "That really bugs him."
We met at the Uptown Cafe. Jonathan and Julia were to join us later. As soon as the introductions were made and we were seated, Peter leaned over (as I remember it) and socked Dad on the arm. "So, let me tell you about that constitution," he said. Dad blanched.
I hastened to explain--although I'm not sure what explanation I could have offered--and before long we were talking Irish ancestry, O'Brien to Mc[REDACTED]. Peter must have made a good impression, because Dad was soon confessing that he had always longed to be called Paddy.
Julia and Jonathan duly arrived and were introduced. We all chatted on a bit. Then, as we were leaving, Peter turned to Dad and said--to the amazement and consternation of the late arrivals-- "Nice to meet you, Paddy."