See that little boy jumping from his bed onto a bed-high pile of pillows and blankets? He is having a hard time not being a nursling anymore. I am having a hard time with the ways he's expressing his confusion, frustration, and grief. It has been nine months since he nursed. At the time, our ending seemed mutual, but I can admit that I wasn't very open to starting back up again later when he changed his mind. We are working on it together, but it's really hard.
Ad the boy on the left continues to grow, grow, grow. Here's one of him jumping:
I finally--finally!--found a pair of jeans that fit him. It took me months. This elegant, capable, beautiful 6 year old wears a size 10H. The H is for husky. I did not know that clothes were actually described this way, but Daddy Honey told me he was shaped the same way at the same age, and that's what he wore. Husky clothes. We found Husky clothes exactly nowhere at the mall, or at any of the half-dozen thrift stores that I regularly shop at, but Wal-Mart had a good selection.
I took this picture last night to text to my sister, who renewed my confidence that I could cook a decent meal based on spaghetti squash (the yellow orbish thing in the upper left). But it also occurred to me, as I filled the cart well beyond this, even, that my shopping trip was an example of scarcity and abundance in my own life. Last month was tight for us, what with traveling from Florida to Georgia and Georgia back home. The last week's worth of groceries were pretty thin. But having gotten paid at the end of the month, I set aside an evening to do the shopping. I felt wonderful, so glad to be filling my cart with good food for my family. I probably over-bought some, which I don't often do, but I really think it was in response to last week's worry of not-enough.
Daddy Honey had brought home yesterday's newspaper and left it out on the dining room table this morning. Woody saw it when he woke up and stared at the picture for a long time. Finally, he said, "Look at how hurt those three people are." I told him it was a suicide bombing, and we talked a tiny bit about what that was.