What happens when you meet Grandma at the mall.

Bernadette shares a moment with Uncle Pete.

Wednesday Afternoon

Isaiah has a Richard Scarry book propped on the couch. As he flips through it, he sings "Bad to the Bone" softly to himself.

Despite the disappointing loss on Sunday, we're still Jayhawks fans (picture is from Saturday night).

 One amigo and three amigas walking to dinner Saturday night in Yonkers (colder than expected despite the sun).

A story read by Clare makes waiting for dinner the opposite of tedious.

And now a few words from Isaiah

"One, two, three, four, five, six, s...eleven, eight, nine, ten ..."

 "Apartment 305. Man overboard!"

"Nobody keeps me informed." (channeling Eeyore)

 Digits ...

 Bernadette is sitting up comfortably and reaching for anything interesting in sight. She occasionally topples over, but is good at yelling to let us know the situation is not to her liking. Here, she manipulates the hammer (mostly to chew on, although she also is starting to bang objects against whatever is at hand).

 Among the items stashed away in the closet are a pair of swimming goggles. Isaiah tried them on. I think he may be on the vanguard of fashion.

Going up in the elevator? Going down? Here's a tip of the hat to you.

Milk and Cookies

Yesterday I baked cookies for Bible Study. Isaiah got to eat one, and I told him we needed to save the rest. He seemed OK with that, and we went into the living room. He nursed for a bit, and a few minutes after he was done, told me, "I had better go back in the kitchen and have another cookie because that milk made me hungry."

p.s. Bernadette has changed overnight from a lump-in-the-sling baby to a sit-on-the-floor-and-play baby. She is holding herself well, and yesterday she actually sat with her little basket of toys (which Isaiah had fetched for her :) ) and pulled things out of it on her own! Her favorite game, however, was to rock the basket back and forth and hear the toys crash into each other. (And right now she's back in the sling for her nap. :) )

Ready for summer vacation? Break out the Adirondack chairs.

Mary, one of the friends we see at the Green House in Hartford, holds Bernadette. At one point or another Saturday, both Isaiah and Bernadette had disappeared into other rooms or the backyard without us. I started looking for Isaiah, and he was out swinging, so I was able to continue an adult conversation with Chris. What fun.

Notes

A snippet of Isaiah's morning narrative: ... so dad could see the tractor plowing in the field where the trucks were growing ...

Isaiah got his hair cut yesterday. I got my hair cut this morning. Marian got hers cut this afternoon. Now I feel like Bernadette is being left out.

Riding in the car.

Isaiah and the rainy day.

Someday when we have a house, I might have to make a bedroom like this for Isaiah and then spend hours playing in it myself: Pirate ship bedroom.

The siblings. Isaiah asked to hold Bernadette. The arrangement remains precarious, but the bed is soft.

A is for aquarium, which we visited with Marilyn on Friday. B is for Bernadette.

Bernadette is sure trying hard to move. It's only a matter of time before she starts following Isaiah everywhere he goes. Other things she's good at now: manipulating things with her hands. She'll hold an object in one or both hands, move it to her mouth, switch hands, put it back in her mouth. She also picks up things she drops. 

This weekend, there was the beginning of stranger anxiety. When Marilyn arrived on Thursday, she looked at Bernadette, who burst into tears upon eye contact and eyed her suspiciously for the next 24 hours or so (she was also suspicious of some people at the CWH party Friday night). 

More From the Young Poet

Outside our window is a little cemetery overshadowed by a large tree. This morning, brown leaves unearthed by recent melting lay scattered across the remaining snow. Kneeling beside the window this morning, with his elbows on the sill, here is what Isaiah had to say about the view: "The snow is covered with leaves the way daisies cover the hill."

( And in case you're curious, there is no hill covered with daisies near us; he got that image from Tootle, the Little Golden Book about the young engine that leaves the tracks to play in a field of daisies.)