Morning again?

We found this on a driveway in our neighborhood on one of our mailbox walks this week.  I'm not sure what it means that we didn't see it until rather late in the day–about 8pm, say–but the sentiment is one to which many can relate, and I think I must be getting on in years that it no longer holds the same meaning for me that it once did.  Throughout the summer especially I love the coming of morning.  In our house morning means waking up to Calvin's little voice singing the tunes of his childhood (the fact hat it's as often an Air Supply tune as it is the ABCs means nothing, I tell you); it means me going out running before the household is officially stirring, and returning to the smell of coffee and toasted muffins (of the english variety); once a week it means a visit from the milk man (I can't get over how cool that is); and after Jon leaves for work it can mean anything from a walk in the rain to exploration with paint on the easel.  There is absolutely no doubt that it is hard to get up the morning, but when the day is just starting there are so many roads open to us, so many opporutinities for the day, that it's hard not to greet the sun with a smile.  Good morning!

Dirt.

A little boy's favorite sensory experience.

Meet Mouse

It has been on my mind for a while now to share this with all of you, and having just written about Friendship at (the age of) three, I think now would be ideal.  You see, friendship isn't always what meets the eye, and I'd like to introduce you to Mouse, Calvin's very special, very invisible, friend.  Mouse has been part of our lives for a few months now, and his presence kind of snuck up on us.  When Calvin first mentioned him I lumped him together with all the other imaginary beings, usually animals, that Calvin had cared for briefly on a regular basis over the past year or so.  It had not been uncommon to hear him fixing meals in his kitchen for the "mama chickadee" or the "daddy finch" or the "baby bunny" but a few things should have stood out to me from the beginning: first, that Mouse was, well, just Mouse, not a mommy or a daddy or a baby; and second, that "Mouse" appeared to be a moniker as opposed to a species (Mouse, according to Calvin, is big, and, other than his gender, that is all I really know about him).  But even if those things weren't unusual about Mouse, his recurring nature, visiting our house or our conversations almost daily over the past few months, has set him apart in our minds as that childhood gem–the imaginary friend.  And let me tell you, I love Mouse–he's everything an imaginary friend should be: Calvin cooks for Mouse when he is hungry, tucks  him in when he is tired, makes sure he gets his medicine when he is sick, and his vitamin when he's not;  Calvin comforts Mouse when he (Mouse? Calvin?) is afraid, and encourages him when he is frustrated; When Mouse wants to do things that are dangerous (ride in the car without his seatbelt) or bad for him (eat a doughnut) Calvin admonishes him and offers a better choice.  But, you ask, how do any of those things make Mouse a good imaginary friend?  They don't.  They make him the perfect imaginary friend because Mouse is clearly helping Calvin mirror the good values that he (Calvin) sees in the world, and work through the things that he (Calvin) is most concerned about.  And the best part is that he is not doing it alone...and yet, he is.

Joy on the face of a child

Pure, anadulterated, partially naked, joy.

Adult entertainment

And no, it's not what you think, but when the kids get to the age where they can play happily by themselves, dinner parites again assume that purpse that is a relaxing and enjoyable part of adult social life. We enjoyed just such an evening with good friends tonight.  Just don't ask my parents about their first escapade into that arena, around thirty years ago, while my cousin and I were off playing happily together...at painting the bathroom with toothpaste.