Various pictures have been piling up in the folder of pictures on my desktop. Let’s have at them, shall we, and see if we can weave together some semblance of a story as we go.
Scene: New York City. Subject: August expressing his love for the “robot.” Inner debate: how best to sanitize child in the aftermath. Reality: he smelled ok, so we walked on.
Kato, auditioning for some sort of off-Broadway play about turn-of-the-century enthusiasm, sings an unrecognizable tune while awkwardly flailing.
The aforementioned crew (motley in their way), pose for me prior to posing for the more qualified cameras on picture day.
Robbi, emotional, upon reaching the end of her birthday scavenger hunt and learning that she would be lunching with her illustration hero Yuko Shimizu at a really good Japanese restaurant. (I’m still not sure whether the food or the company were more to blame for the tears.)
Moments later, the full thrill of being 39 overwhelmed her and she burst into smiles.
Here she is, heading off the next day, still inflicted with happiness.
And here she is at her lunch. Yes, I have already shared this photo with you in another context, but I think it bears repeating, especially since my marvelous anthology features so prominently.
We went to STEM night at Alden’s school. Kato played with colorful goo.
Alden proved remarkably adept at suspect identification (reconstructing a face after seeing it for only a few seconds). I proved remarkably awful. If both Alden and I witness the theft of your trousers, be sure to trust her description of the culprit.
After science, there was dinner. After dinner, there were antics.
After antics, there was more of the same.
Home again, August was argumentative, which, unfortunately for him, is perhaps his most adorable state, providing us zero incentive to resolve his displeasure.
I made enchiladas. My enchiladas are no joke. I cook often, and when I do, I cook enchiladas.
Winter threatened, but then retreated. It was 57 degrees here yesterday. I suspect more frost lies in our future.
Alden, Robbi, and I walked purposefully down the street with the sun at our backs.
Our proof for the next Bobbledy Book arrived. I really, really like this one.
Thanksgiving happened. And when there is Thanksgiving with my mother, there is punch. The kids don’t always drink punch, but when they do, they spill it.
Robbi made her festive holiday specialty—cranberry sauce in orange cups. Moments after this photo was taken, furious eating rendered said cups empty and less lovable (but lovable still).
I really like Thanksgiving.
It brings out the best in me.
It makes me appreciate everything that I have. And oh my goodness, do I have a lot. It would be unseemly for me to ever complain. And yet I sometimes do.
Thank goodness for Thanksgiving for giving me a chance to remember the bounty.