Reed turned 8. He IS 8. I am the mother of an 8-year-old. Stick that in your pipe and...leave it there?
I am writing. As in book-writing. As in, tearing out my hair and yelling at the computer screen because my "book" is 3 pages long. Ah, well. I can't force this. In the meantime, I've done writing exercises from an excellent book--three days in a row! Laugh if you will, but sadly, that's more consistent than I've been for years.
Savvy is actually asking to go to the bathroom. Wanting to sit on the toilet. This should be ideal, but memories of the two previous potty-training drawn-out-disasters have me a little hesitant. Maybe some princess panties will get me motivated.
We spent Thanksgiving in California with my sister and her loves, and it was glorious. We saw the new Harry Potter movie--oh, how I loved it!--and ate at In-n-Out and went to Disneyland. (Not all in the same day.) Best visit so far.
My little Q comes to visit in a little over a week! I'm breathlessly excited, and we have a project we MIGHT start that MIGHT involve her fantastic art and story-making skills, and my writing.
So many of my friends are pregnant or just had babies, and I'm telling you, my arms ache to hold the latest additions--Cara's twin girls, Charlotte and June. Just a random factoid, this raging baby hunger. It's no secret. I think I've mentioned it to strangers in passing. "Oh hello you, with the darling baby in an airport restroom! May I hold your baby? What? No? What do you mean, that's creepy?"
Last: When it comes to deciding what to blog about, it appears I am as indecisive as Reed in a candy store, so I am going to let you do the deciding. (Way to avoid, eh?) Take the poll on the top right of the blog, if you please.
And as always....thank you for reading (what is really, this time, drivel).