I spent a significant portion of my day listening to and leaving voice mail messages to & from my mom. I think, if I wangle it right, I might be able to go a whole week and not physically speak to anyone outside these four walls.

Except for the part where I called another mom friend “just for a minute” and used up 40.

Oh, and my mom called to hassle me as to why I didn’t update this morning (boredom, site down for a half hour) what was I doing this weekend and what she got for the kids this week. She better stop soon, or there will be nothing left for me to buy them.

It’s too cold here. I hope it’s not a sign of winter to come. Hardly any snow and bitter cold is something I can do without. For that matter, even if there was a huge pile of snow outside, at least I’d have the *illusion* of warmth and insulation.

Addison feels better, but two of his ribs are still mysteriously dislocated.

Toyed with the idea of switching to something else to power my website, which means it may be down some Sunday but then that means a lot of work, or at least something more fun than the work I really should be doing.

I have no weekend shopping plans other than to stay the heck away from the mall if I can help it.

I will be writing pretty much every day in December (at least 21 times) because I signed up for the 31 Days project.
If you’re looking for some new reads, there’s plenty of talented ladies also participating. Sign-ups are now closed.

(Really, I dunno how I got in. )

“Mommy,” she said to me this morning, “Am I four yet?” Her head was tipped ever so slightly to the side as she appeared thoughtful. Not quite yet, I assured her, but soon. It’s just over two weeks away.

And she’s almost four.

When Addison was four, he had a year-old sister. He was a big boy. When Sarah was four, she had a two-year-old sister behind her, and she was a big girl. When Meaghan was four, she was a big ball o’ cuteness.

The pictures of Meaghan at four are virtually indistinguishable from Emma to most people. But suddenly it seem like my house is a little bit emptier; two teens halfway out the door already, and two more that refuse to slow down.

“Mommy,” she caught my attention yesterday as I puttered and muttered around the dining room. “Did you know that dinosaurs are extinct?” I was only half-listening and offered yes-dears in return. She continued, “Extinct means there’s no more left.” That’s right, I assured her, then a half-step later brought myself up short. Wait a second, she’s four, how does she know these things?

It’s fascinating still, watching her figure things out. Watching her face contort as she thinks hard, testing out words and phrases to communicate. I love the made-up ones, the ones she figures out by following the language rules, which as you know, don’t always apply. The light bulbs come on in her head, one by one, the tumblers fall into place. She’s figured out the letters sounds of half the alphabet, just recently sounding out small words. She’s so close to looking at the words on the paper and knowing what they say.

“Just one more story!” she begs, every single night. She mouths the words as the grown-ups and big kids take turns reading. We’ve read ourselves hoarse. I fool her sometimes, “forgetting” the words so she has to tell me, giggling, all cuddled up in bed. I’m the silly mommy, you see.

We read the books, we sing the songs. “I love you forever,” she whispers to her birthday bear. The bear she got on the day she was born. He’s wrapped in a towel, tucked into his bookshelf-bed. She picks him up and rocks him back and forth, back and forth.

She runs to me crying, fighting with her sister again, “Sing me the song!” she sniffles in my shoulder. “I love you forever,” I tell her and I rock her back and forth, back and forth. I hold on tight while my mommy kisses still work.