Second City rut....

I told my husband that we need an eradicating, bone-chilling improvizational challenge every Wednesday night.

Whoa. True crime shows kinda rock. My poor dear, dear husband must contend with a slightly warped (but she's cute) wife that could watch any SVU, CSI, ColdCase marathon happily munching on Doritoes. I would not only do it, but enjoy and relish every moment. We have come to a secret agreement that I can only watch these sorts of shows while he and E are not in the room, preferably not in the house. If you've ever seen Patton Oswalt talk about his wife's obsession with crime shows, you will sympathize with my guy's plight. I have learned how to watch these shows while simultaneously making pitying sideways glances at my husband.
"I'm so sorry, baby..."
Oooh blood samples......

So yeah. Fall approaches, thank you, sweet Lord. Today was Sunday. We ALL got monumental amounts of sleep.. Eli got a free pass to sleep in our bed last night. I was awakened by, "Hi, mama. You asleep?"( kiss kiss).  sigh. In these days on the cusp of autumn, I find myself aching for wind, for leaves, for the death of all insect life. I dragged my poor guy home this afternoon and MADE him let me mow the lawn. We have been, um, slightly, home-bound this summer. The mosquitoes have been horrific. IF we ventured outside, we headed to the pool. Eli's amazing swing set has been deserted and covered in spider webs. Today, at a whopping 80 degrees, we braved the yard and tried to combat some of the damage of this past summer.

My Eli has started talking more and more. He is three. He is very bright and loving and physical, but has been hesitant to talk to us in sentences. In the last month, his little mouth has opened and the words have started to pour out.

In a little while from now....things get complicated. I entered the 12th year of my marriage and the 3rd year of motherhood amid a bit of chaos and worry. Our little guy isn't talking as much as he should. He's brilliant and perfect and the apple of our eye. But we're teachers and we know about strange random things called benchmarks and milestones. So when he didn't start using as many words as we thought he should, we started to worry. Then as we moved toward those awfully fun tests and questionnaires, we really started to worry. We had already enrolled him in pre-school and I felt the need explain my sweet one's inability or lack of desire to speak in sentences. I over-compensated--as usual. My precocious bear is a force of nature with a mop of unruly dark blond hair and bright blue eyes. He has blue specs (his glasses) and a little dent in his chin. He is constantly chattering away and has now begun to string those little thoughts together. When I don't understand him, he becomes frustrated. I become frustrated. I can only grab him, hold him and wait for him to try again.

Tonight I haven't been a good mama. I've been very cool, but not good. It is my last night of summer vacation, as I return to work the day after tomorrow. But alas, tonight we had grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner and Zebra Cakes for dessert. My little one continues to play with my wisks--brushin his har, and I gave him a Coca Cola Classic in a bottle with a straw. Nevermind that I/we are watching the fantazmagoraphobic film "House of Haunted Hill" with Vincent Price. He is less impressed than he should be, but I was a weird kid. Tonight we forget that fall approaches with school and work. We brush our hair with mom's whisks; we drink REAL Coke.

Post Christmas Grace

My little one is standing in front of the tv in dinosaur stretch-pants and a baggy green Gap sweat shirt that has ridden up so that it hangs over his little, flat bum. Christmas Break is coming to a close. Nick has gotten he tree outside. The front room is a Christmas murder scene.