(Don't use our upstairs bathroom, you guys.)
Speaking of babies, we've got one. He's 15 months old now and is seriously THE BEST ever. We cannot imagine how we functioned without him in the cold, distant, pre-Raisin past.
Oh, yes, The Curl. He has a smidge more hair on his head than he did this summer, but it still insists on curling right on top and sometimes it does some truly miraculous, gravity-defying things. Winter static adds to the general hilarity.
He's saying lots and walking and running everywhere and forcefully requesting independence and all those typical toddler things. Except I refuse to call him a toddler. He is mah bay-beeeee.
Most of these pictures feature H because, let's face it, he and I spend the entire day together. We're buds.
These two are also buds:
My handsome husband-with-a-winter-beard is back to a 8-4ish schedule (most of the time), sleeping at home and just generally delighting us all with his presence. And with his beard. I got him that cardigan for Christmas because he has the slender, tall body of a male model and is perfect for clothes like this and skinny jeans. I would hate him if I didn't love him so much.
Final point and photo: We've been battling lots of various viruses the last couple months, which is of course frustrating and disheartening, thought not unexpected considering the time of year and the extreme exposure my three oldest have in public school. All of our immune systems are in boot camp. Two weeks ago I was at the pediatrician's office three days in a row (with different kids), and last week I had at least one kid home from school each day. J felt womity and puked on the bus this past Friday morning (so awful, right?), and while he seemed to feel exceptionally awesome and hungry and chipper immediately after, he was still exhausted enough to fall asleep on the couch, which I assure you NEVER happens around here.
Blankie, red hair, purpley sick eyes, palepalepale wan face that is so slender these days and not at all like a baby's. Be still my heart, I love it all. I love him so much, and if I could take all the puke and snot and fever and general misery into my own body and leave him healthy and strong, I would. For now all I can do is rush to school, cuddle on the couch, and buy stock in apple juice. And kiss him when he's asleep because MOOOMMMM.
Just so my future self remembers: J has stopped calling me 'Mama' and now calls me 'Mommy.' I told him I preferred 'Mama,' but he is insistent and really, who cares? We're still a step away from 'Mom' (which makes them sound like teenagers) and he's still calling me, you know? I'll take whatever I can get.
I'm going to abruptly end this post and sleep the sleep of the just. At one o'clock in the afternoon. Thug life, you know?