Every day, we go for a walk down our street to the paper boxes on the corner. Finn has progressed from riding in the wagon to pulling it down the street himself. Dylan taught him to pull his wagon to the roadside if a car comes -- no sidewalks on our street. Is this an Ottawa thing? An Ontario deal? Something particular to the 'burbs? -- and then he has to make eye contact with the driver and wave.

He's very diligent about this. It's especially exciting if the person waves back. The whole neighbourhood must think we are that "very tall but very friendly family from Alberta."

Sometimes we run the wagon there. Mostly, we meander.

He gets the paper himself from the box. We put it in the wagon and head back to the house. It's a little troublesome if the boxes are empty, but Finn takes it in stride.

This trip is only two blocks both ways, but it takes about 45 minutes. There are bugs to squish, garbage to look at, street signs to inspect, sewers to poke stuff into, manhole covers to run the wagon over: all very important and exciting.

The other day, back home, I was reading Finn's free paper while he fiddled around with his wagon in the garage.

Rosemary was in my lap, and she started playing with the paper. It made her happy, so I let her rip it up. The whole teething thing has made for a grumpy baby, and at this point, anything that makes her happy is good. Finn stopped to watch her. She ripped and crumpled. He watched and watched. She got very excited. He got very quiet. It seemed cute for about a minute, and then he got very, very upset.

Uh-oh.

Rose was ripping up HIS paper. The paper HE walked to the box to get and that HE brought back in his wagon. The one HE so thoughtfully handed me to read.

Uh-oh.

After a lot of tears and a distractionary cookie, we got past the paper problem, but suddenly, I can see the future tears and hear the inevitable wails over Finn's block towers carefully built and then knocked down by little Rosemary, the macaroni art lovingly created and then ripped up, the Lego masterpiece carefully constructed and then unceremoniously taken apart. Finn has a little sister.

Uh-oh.

Another cute picture, Mom? Geez, we just want to watch Sesame Street.

Can you tell she likes him?


Brother and sister.

I think someone is teething and a little worse for wear.
She's just a wee bit grumbly and not enjoying her regularly scheduled activities.
Our playroom is going to see a lot of action this winter.
Good thing it's comfy and full of toys.
Rosemary and her Christmas ball, strange toy, yes, but I've noticed these kids seem to prefer the non-toy toys.

In case anyone has forgotten or never knew how beautiful my Finn was and is.

Whatcha' doing, Daddy?

Well, I got this '60s era stereo off Kijiji and am now trying to fix it. It's a Grundig.
Oh.

Autumn is coming. The air is less humid. The sun is lower in the sky, and in the evening, there is a chill in the air. The wind has picked up, and we are trying almost successfully to use it to fly our kite.

I like how Rose and I made it into this shot.

Dylan: "Don't take that picture! It's 40 degrees outside, and I am using a blanket. People will think I am deranged." Rosemary: "Rightly so, Daddy, but we all love you anyway. Even in your blanket."

"In other news, I love bouncing!"
"Eeeeeeeeeee!WheeeeeeWheeee! Eeeeeeee!"

"I may look cross-eyed and squishy here, but in four months, I'm going to be cute." And that you are, Rosemary. Everywhere I go, the world is smiling at me. People are stopping me to chat. I see people look at me with blank faces only to start laughing a second later. Rosemary is so ridiculously happy, we need a new word for it. It's infectious. Everyone is happier with Rosemary in the world.

Happy Birthday, Grandma Pat! We love you and miss you very much. We're waiting for when we can be together again. Have a wonderful birthday, and my thoughts are with you today even if I am not.

This is gross. Seriously, people, there is more to life than shopping. Speaking of shopping, what the fuck is with Christmas being retailed in August? I like Christmas as much as the next person. I like buying and receiving presents, putting up a tree, decorating, the lights, the yummy food, but I really do not need it to begin in August. Seriously.

We have progressed to hanging out on the Elmo chair together, and things have never been cuter around here.Hand-holding! Well, actually, Finn is using Rosemary's hand to push the buttons on the remote, but whatever, it's still cute.

And here, Finn is...um...licking her head. He does give kisses too. She definitely prefers the kisses. "Quit licking me Finn!!"

Dylan thinks she looks like a cabbage patch doll. Perhaps he is onto something.

Until very recently, I had never read David Sedaris, famous essayist and contributor to NPR. I hadn't even really heard of the guy. Neither his name nor his books meant much to me. Admittedly, I am hardly an expert on NPR contributors, and although sometimes it does feel like I live under a rock, I do maintain at least a passing knowledge of popular books. Doesn't mean I've read them all. Just means I have heard the titles mentioned on CBC Radio and can nod knowledgeably if they come up in conversation.

All I really knew about this Sedaris guy was there were a lot-- A LOT-- of requests for his books at the library. Request-list numbers generally do not, as a rule, guide my book choices, but lately, I've come to realize I've reread Harry Potter just a little too much and am trying to branch out. Really, though, there isn't much guiding my reading choices other than, "Have I heard of it?" and, "Is it in the library?" Sometimes the process is streamlined further by, "Do I like the cover?"

The first Sedaris book I requested and read this weekend was chosen simply for the fewest number of people asking for it. I picked up Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim. With a title like that, I was expecting essays along the Erma Bombrek/Dave Barry type or stories along the cute, faked wisdom vein of, "My kid ruined the CD collection I painstakingly collected through my twenties, salad days full of time and money, but since I am such a wonderful person and parent, I'd rather have peanut-butter-smeared everything than precious, rare, hard-to-find status items."

Boy, was I wrong. One story in particular, Blood Work, had me in tears. Honestly, I don't think I have laughed that hard since I was seven and reading Garfield comics in my bed.

By the way, if you read the Google Books deal of Blood Work, the funniest part is not available on the Internet, so you'll have to add your name to the request list at your library to really, really laugh, or I guess you could buy it, if you're into that kind of thing, book buying that is.

I hate to state the obvious, but man, this baby is cute.
And long, very long. Having only had Finn, I might have a skewed frame of reference. The tall genes must be dominant, though, as in crush-all-other-genetic-material-and-laugh-maniacally-while-doing-so dominant.

Being 40 degrees with the humidity, the neighbourhood spray park seems the best place to hang out.