I Declare Seven My New Favorite Age

My son turned seven.

There were two parties and three cakes.  A hundred kids and a whole lotta volume.  There was a birthday wish so big,

he had to levitate.

I hope it comes true.

I Want to Be Like You

Magda is blissfully unaware that April is not meant to be snowy.

 It doesn't occur to her to be bothered by the endless weeks of hats and mittens.

She lives each day with no agenda whatsoever.

Except maybe to wear a favorite sweater.

Which is fair enough, even though it reminds us just how much she looks like her sister.

Way to live in the now, baby.

Lucky We

Seven years ago tonight, I was pacing the hardwood floors of our uptown duplex, breathing through contractions, trying to not go to the hospital too early. Just before midnight, I couldn't pace one more pace at home. I had to get out.

A hundred years or a flash later, Kevin and I were parents.

A hundred years or a flash later, our son is seven.

And he's killing it.

Happy birthday, Woods. You're extraordinary.

Everything Was Going Okay

Until it snowed on April tenth. Three days ago it was a l m o s t warm enough to swing with coats off. If the pictures weren't on my phone, I would believe I'd dreamed it.

There will be no pictures of sledding in April, because it's not fun.

Gus

This is my baby sleeping. I could watch this all day.

She made a real and strong connection with a teddy bear at the thrift store yesterday. Because the baby of the family gets what she wants with very little argument, he came home with us.

We are calling him Gus.