Chinook

    Unseasonably warm winds are blowing across the countryside, leaving crusty snow which crunches pleasantly underfoot. Britta and Elsa love to go walking with Mom and Dad through the mini drifts. Britta kicks up the crust which breaks into shards of tinkling glass. Elsa looks around, breathes deeply the frosty air and nods off.

     Britta is a fiercesome learner in playschool. Her songs are a war-cry around our dinner table. "Hello Britta, how are you? Who is sitting next to you? Mommy! Hello Mommy, how are you? Who is sitting next to you? Daddy..." Yes, that song has no reasonable conclusion. She delights in printing her name, over and over again, so all her artwork now comes autographed.

    Today, as we parked in front of a stop sign, Britta declared, "That is a stop sign. S-T-O-P." Great, a backseat driver at age 3. I can feel my hair silvering already.

     Elsa is counting down the advent calendar with her big sister. Elsa is now standing, assisted by furniture and pantlegs, so the nativity scene is now the scene of major calamity, much to Britta's Type-A laments. "Don't do that, Elsa! It frust-er-ates me!" Elsa represents the Christmas story as re-mixed with Godzilla. Sheep, cows, and wisemen are licked, smashed, and cast aside.

    Elsa is sleeping mostly through the night, though she does crave the occasional cuddle. Often, she takes the release from her crib-prison as an invitation to get up and she sticks her fingers into the eyes, nostrils and mouth of her dear, sleeping dad. If that doesn't wake me, she is always willing to grab my face or give me an excited open-hand smack. Kristine never tires of seeing me wake up that way.

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     I know that the fall leaves are buried in snow (because I was too lazy to rake them), and Halloween has come and gone, but some of the pictures are too good to not be shared. Enjoy.