Well, Graham finally wore his Halloween costume tonight. Up until this point he has wanted absolutely nothing to do with it (including at our own little Halloween party). But tonight, as soon as the first batch of kids showed up to get their treats, he was suddenly totally on board with the idea. At least for 15 minutes. Then, after returning home, he decided to gear up for one last round. So, thankfully, the turtle has seen some use. I'm going to eat some leftover mini Snickers to celebrate. And you, reader, get to experience our hard-won turtle costume victory. 

A series that should be titled: Why playing with my mom (Jen) is awesome. She can even make a laundry basket a toy.

 Bobbie's gorgeous pictures of the the Forest Hills Cemetery reminded us how much we love it there in the Fall.  We used to live off of one of the gates to this beautiful private park, and today we told Graham how he used to walk there everyday, only then he lived inside my belly. 

In other news, G's sick, again. Tell me about how his immune system is being strengthened at Daycare? Right now, I don't believe it. 

We're developing a plan for dealing with the 7 month span of bad weather we face here, dear readers (and not, as one friend suggested, moving to San Diego). Step 1 is projects, like as pictured above, the apple bread we baked this morning (at 6am). Step 2 is finding friends who will invite us over, accepting apple bread as a bribe, as this morning we hung out with Gus and Ezra. Step 3 is being outside whenever possible, as today when G and I walked home from Ezra's house, stopping for a good long while to check out the construction in our neighborhood. This multi-step plan, along with some good boots (for Graham AND me, though I prefer mine to be black leather with a buckle) will keep us out of the winter doldrums. I hope. 

Anyway, plotting aside, the apple bread was delicious and we LOVE that Ezra has stairs for us to climb. 

Here's an article in the NYTIMES about people like us, living squished and happy in the big city. I find the data/arguments surrounding these trends totally compelling- and I do feel like we live in a small town sometimes. I see someone to say hello to wherever we go. 

News flash:

Graham can count to 12. As in the alphabet, we had not even thought to teach him this skill. In this case, however, LeapFrog was not responsible; instead, we can thank his caregiver, Lisette, whom I want to raise all my children. From birth. 

Current Topics of interest (followed by a typical G rumination on CTI):
Io [a school friend, with whom he had held hands on a walk to the park.] (Io, hand, Lisette, park.)
Pirates (pi-rat. ship. arr. hat. boots.)
bums (bum. cream. on.)
home (Mama. Mom. Baby. home.)
fire alarms (fire alarm. on. beep.)
who's on the phone (pa-pa. phone. hi.)
books(busy. town. read.)
belly activities (bite. kiss. raspberry.)

So, after all the worry this summer that G would NEVER talk, we now feel like we're over the hurdle. On the other side of the hurdle is every morning waking up to some riff on the following (can you guess the song?): "head. knees. toes. eyes. toes [cackle]." Which is a quick prelude to "Mama. hi. hug. up. " Notice his attempt to get into the good graces right before he gets to what he really wants.

And, yes, the advanced alphabet study continues. We've got "U" and "Q" now; "W", alas, continues to evade the young scholar.

Honestly, there's something about New England in the Fall. I know I sound like a tourist brochure, but even I can't resist the combination of honey-colored light and bright leaves. This weekend we made our annual pilgrimage to Western Mass. for apple donuts and milk. (See last years photo here). We had a great time window-shopping, despite a desperate outside diaper change. Could restaurants PLEASE start having changing tables? The sticky floor is NOT a good option. Anyway, happy fall, friends!

Sad news today: Graham's Great-grandfather Walton (my grandpa) died after a period of escalating illnesses. I'm sad, not because he got relief from his many ailments, but because he's gone from the world. He was a surprising guy- when we went to New Orleans together, he not only knew OF many of the musicians we went to hear, he knew them, and they knew him. One trumpeter told me that my grandpa new more about classic New Orleans Jazz than anyone he knew. 

Here's a clip of that same trumpeter playing  (thanks, Interwebs). Enjoy a little in memory of my Grandpa. 

Graham's first (recognized) sentence:

"I don't want to."

sigh. 

What's Up?

Well, pirates. Thanks to his cousins and the introduction of The Backyardigans into our lives this summer, he's discovered swarthiness early, dear readers. So, mamas gamely provided the little swashbuckler with a few pirate toys and he has not shut about them since then. He even likes to have a pirate share his dinner (one bite for the pirate, one bite for G, etc.). I definitely now get how phases work: one idea lodges in brain; all single-minded hell breaks lose. 

Also, seriously, G is in love with his daycare. Yesterday, he demanded to stay there for a half hour after Jen arrived to pick him up, because he was having too much fun to go home. 

Also, Graham has started referring to himself as "Baby." As in, "What's your name?" Answer: "Baby" (pronounced with an enthusiastic emphasis on the first syllable: BAY-bee). Jen and I like to joke that he'll be 45, in a job interview, saying, " Hi, I'm Graham, but you can call me Baby."