It's a treasure.

The boys and I had a pretty good week. I sent them on a treasure hunt which lasted all of five minutes. (Note to self: more clues next time.)

I also got them started on sign language and was awed by how quickly they picked up on it. I showed Carl his name once, the second time he did it with me, and then he said, "Now I do it self." And he did. All by himself, exactly right.

Pete was hesitant to learn, as 'p' is difficult letter for tiny, semi-uncoordinated hands, but after he saw Carl achieve such success he buckled down until he had it right.

Ed turns a year old on the 10th. Hard to believe he couldn't even hold his head up when I got here.

Down will come baby....

Five seconds. Apparently that's all it takes.

I put Ed in his high chair. Nothing unusual. I left the room to get the pasta off the stove. Still nothing. He's definitely been left unattended in a high chair for more time than that.

But you see where this is going.

I have a hot pan in my mitted hands when I hear a "thwap" followed by a wail. I look to Pete, who has a clear view of the action in the dining room, and he looks horrified.

I run in. Ed has fallen from his high chair and is lying face down on the floor, screaming.

I pick him up, take him into the kitchen. He's crying and bleeding all over his bib and my shirt. I'm fairly certain I'll pull back his lip to the absence of eight tiny teeth, but no, they're still there. They're swimming in blood, but they're there.

I mop up as much as I can and give him a bottle. The cure-all.

But I'm not out of the woods. I have Carl and Pete to answer to, two tough little cookies who are fairly certain this is all my fault.

"You have to strap him in!" Pete yelled. Actually, no. There is no restraining device. I am not negligent, so there. That's really about all the argument they had, and when they realized, wow, there is no restraining device, they grumbled a bit but had to admit that Ed was the dumb one here.

Not dumb. He's not even a year old. He didn't realize that long falls result from climbing out of high chairs. Now he does.

He gave me a good scare, though. There was too much blood to determine at the time what exactly happened, and he wasn't keen on letting me touch his face later on, but he must have just bitten himself. He has a fat lip, but he's smiling again, thank goodness.

Home from home.

I was never really a believer in jet lag until I moved here. Sure, on previous trips to Europe I was tired, but I always slept well at night. When I came in January, my sleep was thrown off for two weeks and I ended up really, really sick. I'm afraid that's starting all over again -- I slept for two hours yesterday afternoon when I got back (having only slept two hours on the flight over), and then went to bed at 10:00 pm with an alarm set for 8:00 am, just so I wouldn't over do it. Turns out it wasn't needed -- I awoke at 1:30 am, feeling fully rested. That didn't last long, but I never got back to sleep. It's 9:45 and I'm ready for a nap.

The trip was excellent. The wedding was beautiful. I know terrific people.

I'm vacationing in the States.

It's a strange concept.

I'm almost packed. You know me. It's a 2-day affair, at least.

And I'm pretty darn excited. Regina and Adam are picking me up at the airport, bless them. Ma and Pa are blazing into Verm on Tuesday for a couple of days. There's wedding business all weekend. It's shaping up to be a lovely 10 days.

I'd like to thank you for continuing to read this thing, although the past couple of months have been pretty dry. Things should be picking up again soon. I'm going to Germany in October, so at least by then.

Leaps, bounds, mourning.

Yesterday the boys and I spent a good 90 minutes talking about natural disasters. Pete really caught on to earthquakes. There was momentary confusion -- "The earth has plates?" -- but we got that cleared up. We were quiet and fine until we got to tornados. They, of course, got caught up in one and swirled around the house until I could get them interested in floods.

Kate said "banana" today. All three syllables. This is quite an upgrade from the previous word she used for banana, which was "na".

Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin died. Died! I'm somewhat distraught, as he was my favorite wildlife looney. Plus, he named his kids Bindi, after a crocodile, and Bob. Bindi and Bob. Bob. First Bindi. Then Bob. But really. It's a sad day for wildlife, the Discovery Channel, and me.

I'm back.

At long last. After nearly a month of being heavy in the grumpy, things are finally turning around. It took a lot of quiet time, an intensely productive painting obsession (my own blue period), and a well-timed package (thank you, Andrea) but I'm feeling, more or less, like my old self again.



And just in time. I'm leaving for the States one week from Monday. There's a special wedding I wouldn't dream of missing, and many of the world's good people, all right there in Vermillion.