Deja vu all over again

They promised us sixty degrees today. Sixty! And it may actually have been a balmy sixty when I went to the library just before eleven this morning, but it was a nippy fifty when we went out to the store just two hours later, and much chillier low forties by dinner. Bah. Calvin had wanted to walk in the field today, and I think we would have done it if it hadn't been damp on top of cold. That phrase gives me a strong and unfortunate feeling of deja vu. He decided, as we came home from the store, that he'd rather stay in and play games. We played Mammoth Hunt, with help from Cookie and Torso Boy, and we also tried our hands at Connect Four.

Piano, Oz, chopping carrots for dinner (soup, which actually turned out to compliment the weather nicely), taking turns reading to each other, quiet, individual play and reading—cold, wet days with tempestuous winds are good for something. And with his bosses out of town, Jon worked from home today. Since we have commandeered the office when he works from home he usually does so at the kitchen table, making him central to all of our goings on. We do a pretty good job of ignoring his existence while he's working, but I left Calvin to draw quietly across from him when I went to the library and he spent the entire hour I was gone doing just that. When I came home he presented me with a cornucopia of castle drawings. I don't have pictures of them yet, but they are coming.

After dinner tonight, while we still sat at the table, I asked Calvin to read to us. He skipped off to select his own book from the other room and came back with the Giving Tree and read it to us, fluently and with feeling, while we reclined in our dining chairs. Then we went on with the rest of the evening. The surprise of hearing him read like that is beginning to wear off. I could get used to this autodidactic nature of his.

Dogs, hogs, logs

I think some days are just destined not to go well. It seemed almost a shame, or actually definitely a shame, to waste such a beautiful day in that way, but if we could pick our bad days, I'm not so sure they'd be bad days then, just days spent hunkered down and reading. Or at least that's what we do when we meet with a bad day.

Sunshine in the morning today beckoned us to the zoo, but a project I had to finish for someone kept us housebound for too long and then grumps invaded the morning instead. We stayed home, we practiced the piano, we read book after book after book, we ate lunch. It was all pretty meh. Then Calvin announced that he was going to write a poem. I think he was revelling in a new found ingenuity, in an ability he didn't know he had. To get him to write poems in the past we've played a game, drawing a set of matching words from a stack of cards and taking turns writing alternating rhyming lines with a certain measure of hilarity, but here, today, he was writing all by himself. Dogs, hogs, logs. It was a hilarious if not auspicious beginning, and with that kind of magic a day can be turned around.

We did get outside today, too, and found time to commune with our favorite birds, the blues, the chickadees, a cardinal, and the little red capped woodpecker we see every time we walk along our neighborhood path. I think he waits for us.

And in other, sad, sad news: our camera is failing. What a short life it has had, at only four years. Canon lovers everywhere would chide us for having chosen a Nikon, or perhaps it is just denouncing its overuse, the hundreds of pictures it has been forced to take on an almost daily basis. Whatever the cause of its protest there are likely to be fewer pictures for a time. I have yet, for instance, been able to capture a shot of Calvin's finished poem. It will have to wait until tomorrow.

Boys love cats love sunshine

Sick day

First, the cat's out of the bag. Or box, as it may be. I'm not likely to make it to the computer on Wednesday nights because that's our guilty pleasure night. Wednesday nights we are parked in front of the TV for Criminal Minds, a guilty pleasure for a family that otherwise gives wide berth to the TV in the corner.

But even all that sitting didn't keep me from waking up sick this morning, fighting fire in my throat and aches in my head. I managed breakfast, then I managed piano practice—Since Calvin finished the second book this week we've been playing a review game, rolling dice and using the hundreds chart to add them up to determine which page to play next.

After piano I managed a shower and a trip to the library for book sorting and then story time. After that I managed lunch, but as soon as the lunch dishes were closed inside the washer I retreated to bed. Earlier, as I watched Jon leave for work, nursing my aches from the comforts of my favorite chair, I sat in dread of the day. Moms don't get sick days, after all, especially homeschooling moms. And a year ago it probably wouldn't have gone so well, but now I have a very sweet, very empathetic, four year old boy, so after lunch we collected all the books and art materials we could carry and set up camp on my bed where we proceded to spend the entire afternoon. He read to me, I read to him, we drew pictures, we talked about strange things, imaginary things, we cuddled.

Did you know that they use ferries to take loaded trains across the Great Lakes? That's thanks to the awesome Great Lakes Great Ships book we got at the library sale last weekend.

This was the best sick day ever.

What a Saturday should be

There are no hard and fast rules about what makes a good Saturday, but I would  definitely put today into that category. We slept in and enjoyed some early morning quiet. There was coffee and english muffins for us and shaped pancakes and juice for Calvin. There was a fire, some chess, a little family time. Around eleven we struck out for downtown Ann Arbor, the wind still howling but a bright sun shining, with the intention of getting a book from the library there. I thought I'd just jump out and run in to get the one book we needed—the next in the Oz series—but Calvin wanted to go in too, so since we had to find parking anyhow we first stopped at my favorite book seller's (West Side Book Shop) and then at the little toy store nearby (which is Lexi's, but it turns out Calvin is too old for them now). We found the book we needed at the library and also noticed the sign for their book sale going on in the basement (turns out they're open every weekend, so next time we're hungry for a sale we can just go there). That sale turned out to be pure magic for us today.

Back at home it was all Legos all afternoon. Well, Legos and we painted some more on our pictures (which are almost done), spent some time exploring the new books, watched City Lights (Charlie Chaplin), did some chores, counted birds, took naps, and read three chapters in the book we checked out from the library, the next Oz book in the series.

A truly diverse train station.

Jon's creation—the zoo. Note the elephant, snake, skunk, and turtle. I don't know what the red and blue thing in the back is, though.

But the celebrated moment of the day, the activity we've looked forward to all week, came this evening: after the wind had died down, and before the arrival of tomorrow's winter storm clouds, we went on a snow moon night hike at our nearby county park. We love our county naturalist. She taught Calvin about making maple syrup and she's the one who guided our owl hike over a year ago when we actually met a screech owl. Tonight's weather, chilly but perfectly clear, was ideal for the bonfire, Native American folk stories, star gazing, and owl hunt. No owls found us this time, but as the little girl in Calvin's most recent picture book, Owl Moon, says, "sometimes there's an owl and sometimes there isn't." The stars were phenomenal, though, and we got hear two packs of coyotes communicating across the lake and the sonorous tones of the lake ice shifting and giving way to the (slightly) warmer spring air. Don't forget the marshmallows, either.

It's now ten o'clock and we just go Calvin tucked into bed. I think he may have been asleep before his head hit the pillow and if I wasn't so enthralled with the new books, which I now absolutely must skim through, I might be there myself.