Ordinary

We had a lovely ordinary weekend. On Friday we drove up to the Cities. Daddy and I went to the mall and looked for ties that matched with purple sweaters and drank coffee from paper cups with caribou frolicking on the sides while Grandma took you to Edinborough, an indoor park that can only be described as a child orgasm. Trees, waterfalls, scooters on wide slick floors, slides and climbing walls and bouncy castles and bleachers for parents to sit while they watch their dear ones *almost* collide or fall or break one another's lovely necks. We ate pot roast for dinner and then Grandma and I drank wine and talked about Tiger Mothers and Montessori Mothers and Waldorf Mothers while Daddy and Grandpa watched basketball on T.V.

On Saturday I got coffee and a bob. When I got home (itty bitty hairs still making my neck feel itchy and wooly), you and Grandma and Grandpa were sledding in the driveway. You smiled at the downward motion and then made your "more" sign in your big black mittens (which really just looks like clapping) and then hustled as fast as you could back up the driveway (slightly pigeon-toed in your slightly too large pink boots). In the afternoon Grandma took you to ride the choo-choo at the mall while Daddy and I went to see Black Swan which is a good movie to see if you are interested in Carl Jung and/or examples of very overt symbolism. Or dancing, I suppose. Nevertheless, it was luxurious to go to a movie in the middle of the afternoon--and to follow it up with dinner out with friends! Woot! We went to a new pizza place that has a huge wood-fired copper oven in the center of the room that radiates glorious heat. Daddy and I sat at the bar and drank wine and beer and talked of this and that and watched the fire consume the wood. We had a lovely dinner and an even more lovely conversation with our friends, David and Rachel.

You were mostly a delight all weekend. Your favorite place to hang out is either in the left sink of G and G's two-sinked master bath or upstairs on your standing stool in front of the dollhouse. The dollhouse was my grandmother's (your great-grandmother's) and it contains amazing minutia. There is a cast iron oven/stove and tiny porcelain serving dishes with tiny porcelain lids, there is a highly racist-looking black doll and a paper-thin Oriental rug, there is a quarter-sized tray of appetizers and pillows and blankets sewn with a child's hand from faded, rose-bedecked fabric. A silver switch turns the lights on in all the rooms and opening the roof reveals a huge attic space. You love it and you should.

Now, however, it is Monday and you are awake and fussing in your crib. Yesterday you took a two hour nap. Today you only made it to 50 minutes. Oh well. You have a cold and we are in the midst of a small winter storm so we will likely spend the afternoon cuddled on the couch with "Busy, Busy Town" and "Thank You God, Amen!" and snack cups full of Pirate Booty. And that's OK. Today I have a crush on ordinary.