Wishing You Helmets of Thanksgiving Joy (and stuffing)

This is the season for expressing thankfulness. I'm all about expressing. I express hints about certain goodies for my birthday. I express milk. My sister works at Express. I express milk. I refuse to iron so my poor husband's shirts are ex-pressed. I express milk. I'm all about expressing thoughts. But then, you knew that didn't you?



Mostly I can get off track like an Express train down the wrong side of a mountain. Like just now. I meant to talk about thankfulness.



Blame the milk bit on the wayfaring train. It carried me away.








I'm thankful for this boy.

Here he is riding a motorcycle.

He is sweet and imaginative.

"Come-on, Harley Mama, Let's go for a ride!"

He knows all the right sounds.

Best of all, he looks like his daddy. A Carharrt and jeans. Doesn't get much better.

[Elvis Voice] Thank you!

Thank you very much!

I want you to know that I am thankful for a lot of other things, including my other two children.

I've just always had a thing for a motorcycle man.

I do mean always.

I hope your Thanksgiving is lovely and lively, overfilling and fulfilling. And if you are as lucky as me, maybe you'll be sharing it with your own little motorcycle man.

Helmets of joy to you all.

Love,

The Active Octavian Duo

It starts as a solo.



But soon it's a duet. It lacks harmony some of the time.

But then, that's life. Isn't it?



Mamamia, Mamamia, Mamamia, Figaro!




Everybody give it up for the amazing, the one and only, the truly extraordinary, Active Octavian Duo.

My children are so talented. They can 'play' the piano while standing on a rocking-chair, missing half their clothes, without dropping the lid on each other's heads or fingers, all the while, fighting over who's song is better (read: louder).

I'm so proud.

Babies Don't Keep

The Prince of the Paci is getting bigger. He sleeps less and has started to notice when I leave the room or when strangers are holding him. This means, you guessed it, more crying.


From Pip. Not me. Silly!


[sniffle] Ahem, I just got something in my eye. [blink, blink]




Now and then, Okay, rather often, I have caught myself thinking,
"Why won't he just go to sleep so I can get something done?"



"Why is he being so clingy?"




"Why am I the only one who seems to be able to keep him happy for five whole minutes?"




"Good gravy! Why is he so cute?"



And with that, I remember.

Remember how fast this stage passes.

Remember how little it matters that my house isn't clean.

Remember how much I wanted this baby boy.



I remember my mother's voice quoting the poem that includes this line,

"So quiet now, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."


So we rock.

Because he's a keeper.

Because I keep remembering how special it is to be in these moments.

Because he's not going to keep.

That said, he does keep needing clean clothes and diapers. He does keep needing his bath. And I keep needing a nap.

Charmed Life?

This fortune was in my cookie the other night at our new favorite Chinese buffet.

I like it. I may have it framed.

Before you get the notion that I have a big head, let me tell you that I grabbed this cookie on my way out the door to meet Mr. Loggerhead, who had quickly ushered our middle child to the car after T-boy threw-up on the floor. Out of the whole restaurant he chose the bit of floor that happened to be right in front of all the people waiting to be seated.

So just in case you thought I needed something to keep me humble.