A: SO MUCH

346/365
5:18 p.m.

Scene: Writing the annual Letter to Santa.

Q: Charlie, measured in hands, how good were you this year?

{Debatable.}

Gear

344/365
4:27p.m.

Day 3: We're permanently in the snow.

Predicament

336/365
5:58 p.m.

Charlie manages to get himself into this position all meals, and then cheerfully belts out, "MOM! I'm in a predicament!"

And, therefore, I'm only half-sarcastic when I say, "Thank you, Sesame Street, for your wonderful vocabulary introduction." They don't get my full high praise because they omitted the part when you solve your own predicament, and left me to untangle my child from this position for three meals and two snacks a day.

Humdrum

322/365
9:18 a.m.

They can't all be pretty shots. Typical Charlie: hunched over, dirt on his fingers, eating something.

Thirty Three Months

293/365
9:35 a.m.

He's going to be three, six, nine, twelve, thirty before I know it. So here I relish my almost 33-monther for the love, the adventure, the exhaustion, the joy, the curiosity, and the contentment he brings to our table every single day.

Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop

292/365
5:32 p.m.

At least twenty minutes of uninterrupted fun. Each pop is like a tiny gift of joy for Charlie.

Coming Through

286/365
9:47 a.m.

Although this appears like a fancy photography vignette, it's merely Charlie hanging out in a playground tunnel and me shooting through the holes. So much for fanciness.

Science

281/365
7:09 a.m.

Hot breath, cold window.

Happy Halloween!

275/365
5:54 p.m.

Our dynamic duo was thrilled for the evening's festivities. Jack, otherwise known as The Flash, demonstrated his speed and agility between every house along the way, as Charlie, our little Cloud, appropriately floated. Charlie insisted on being a cloud this year, despite having a perfectly adorable little green bug costume waiting in the closet for him. He should be noted for his determination and lack of last minute wavering. So, our Cloud (with a Silver Lining, I might add) spent the evening allowing the wind to push him to the next house.

It really just keeps getting better!

Happiness In a Stick

273/365
10:34 a.m.

We had a downright enchanting morning in the UW Arboretum. Sticks were swords, leaf piles were oceans and battlefields, and the brisk air needed a good lashing.

{ONWARD, MY BROTHER!}

Nibble

272/365

12:32 p.m.

Apparently, Charlie categorizes carrots in the same How to Eat column as corn on the cob. Fine by me.

Golden Arches

271/365
11:46 a.m.

A requisite for our next home: right there, in the front yard, a golden, amber canopy providing ethereal light on the darkest autumn days. A Sugar Maple, a glowy sunset; a Ginko, an incandescent fan; or a River Birch, delicate, dangling 24-karat blades would all be perfectly swell.

And so would a palm tree.

Brothers

264/365
6:42 p.m.

Feasted and fattened, sweetly scrubbed and lotioned, dressed for dreams, Knuffle Bunny recited, and huddled in close. I love how they have the entire couch to themselves, but choose to cram in closely like sleepy little puppies.

Ecopsychological Self Perservation

251/365
11:59 a.m.

Is there nothing more glorious than a fabulous, old-fashioned romp in the mud? My curiosity was lured late this summer when a story ran in the newspaper about nature-deficit disorder in children. It's rooted in the theory that kids are electromatically tethered by inside forces and parents themselves have perceived sense of outside fear, primarily crime-based. The result: alarming rates of obesity, depression, and ADHD, among others.

I get the perceived sense of fear. The idea of someday sending the boys off on their bike, only to return when the streetlights come on, is nothing short of an Anxiety Inducing Thought. However, because both of my kids have this amazing alter ego, which is deeply connected to all things nature, I understand the need to wholeheartedly foster this concept. Jack's calmness and focus is related to all things forest, Charlie's kicks in for mud, sticks, and rocks. And from what I've read, the research is there--exposure to nature links to a healthy early childhood, both physically and emotionally. From here on out, I'll do everything I can to support it--from this side of a potty in the woods and a tent on a rocky bed. {I can't even apologize, folks. I.Am.Not.A.Camper.}

Storyteller

247/365
5:58 p.m.

The kid has a lot to say. I mean, a whole lot. Chatty McChatters. So that means we're doing something right.

Hat

241/365
12:34 p.m.

Reflective

223/365
12:35pm

Can.Not.Get.Enough.Of.Those.Eyes.

Yellow

213/365
Several moments between 7:00-9:00am

I suppose I've been putting this off for a couple days because I don't think I can do it justice. Sending my child to kindergarten felt monumental, and it was important for me to be fully present. Being present = Not Behind the Lens. So, my shots are only so-so, my words here are only so-so, but my heart, oh my heart, is full and light and happy like a yellow balloon dotting an azure sky.

As we transitioned to kindergarten and preschool from relaxed summer living over the last several weeks, we were all business: buying supplies, making phone calls, meeting with the nurse and teachers, packing the backpack. Crossing things off The List. Check. Check. Check. That emotion-free approach forced the little yellow balloon to remain properly unaffected and captured, tucked safely away in the cavity of my chest. But seeing Jack walk in line with his class and give a little smile released the happiness. Seeing Charlie not even care I was in his classroom with him released the happiness. Such big boys, going out in the world.

And if you happen to see a yellow balloon all full and light and happy, that's me....ready to burst with pride.

Concentration

212/365
1:59pm

Climbing up the curvy playground ladder. Steady. Steady. Steady. The tongue is clearly a built-in balance feature.

Just a Little

211/365
1:31pm

Meet Charlie's shy smile.