In praise of Fall (aka a rambly updatey post)

(Steve and Edmund are napping, Harriet is out with the relatives, and I'm going to do something that I don't have to do.)

Fall makes me so happy, really and truly.  Summer is great because it's warm and relaxed, and spring is great because I hate winter, but fall?  It's this roasty-toasty blend of routine and sweaters and lattes and football and windy days and warm-right-through-you sunshine.  It's crunchy leaves scattered all over the ground, swirling and twirling like some kind of organic glitter.  It's snuggling up with kids in their pajamas and making cinnamon swirl pancakes in the morning because we don't care if we heat the house up right away.  It's COLOR and pumpkins and carrot cake cupcakes.  And it results in a smiling me, just because.  

Plus, fall means that I can wear my favorite outfits in the whole wide world.  

Who can resist the cozy comfort of cardigans, skinny jeans, and sneakers (or flats)?  I can't.  This is the time of year when my personal fashion taste flourishes...and I learn that successful self-portraits involve a tree branch and a large rock sort of wedged together.

Okay, enough about me and my seasonal euphoria.  I realized that it's been a while since I talked about the kids in any sort of practical Real Life way, so here we go.

Oh Harriet.  Where do I begin with Harriet?  She is something else.  I think we would call this era in Harriet's life the Terrible Twos, but it feels more like the Terrible Thirteens which has me quite scared for her hormonal pubescent state.  OR, maybe she's getting it all out of her system now and that loverly transition into teenage-hood will be a walk in the park.  Frankly, I'm just glad that she is our oldest child and that she came along when I was rather young and energetic and open to reading lots of things about how to deal with such strong personalities such as the one she possesses.  

She cracks us up with her vocabulary.  

Harriet: I fell off the couch and bumped my head.

Me: Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that!

Harriet: It's okay.  I forgive you.

She is such a wonderfully sweet sister to Edmund and genuinely wants to get along with him.  She is very consistent in "trading" toys with him when she wants whatever thing he has.  She manages everybody and everything and eats lots of cheese and hummus.  And milk.  And homemade popcicles.  And cauliflower pizza.  She basically wants to spend every moment of every day either watching Veggie Tales (she knows more song lyrics than I do) or playing with the Small Aunts (who she can name in age order).  Harriet can count to ten, match shapes and colors, find all of the circles in the house, and cut playdoh with a butterknife into teeny worms and chase me around with them.  

Harriet is not confined to the popular notion of being a Princess, Cowgirl, Artist, or Mommy.  Nope, she wants to excel at EVERYTHING.  I think that if you aren't able to spend a lot of time with Harriet, but you want to know what she is really like, you should read the Olivia books by Ian Falconer.  Because that is Harriet in literary pig form.

 Goodness, we love her and we pray that she will use her passionate, persistent self to glorify God.

Then there is Edmund.  Edmund is getting teeth in a big bad way and is so horribly pathetic that I can hardly bear it.  When Harriet was getting teeth, she was just angry at the world.  I was angry at her for being so out of this world unbearable, so there was a lot of general angst until the teeth popped through.  With Edmund?  He looks at me with these sad watery eyes and just moans.  It's so sad.  We spend a lot of time physically touching each other because that seems to help the tooth problem.

He isn't crawling yet, but he is dreadfully close.  He seems to have adopted this stealth crawl thing where he quietly slides around the floor on his belly very quickly.  He also used his stealth crawl to slide quickly off of the bed, which made his mother very upset.  

Edmund loves textured food.  While pureed stuff is okay, he would much rather chomp down on muffins, beans, or avocados.  Like Harriet, he is a tremendous fan of cauliflower pizza.  He has developed a bit of stranger anxiety, but continues to be a contented and easily pleased little guy.  His smiles kill.  I can't wait to see what they look like with some adorable teefies.  I can't believe that he is going to be eight months old next week.  Seriously?

(Okay, that was a wondrously refreshing forty-five minutes of silence and productivity.  Now the pile of dishes really doesn't look so treacherous.)