I’ve had it in my head for a couple of weeks that I wanted to do a little photo shoot with each of the boys. Somehow, as if I didn’t know any better, I thought that we would, without any fussing or arguments, load up in the van and, at just the right time of day, head out to some idyllic, quintessentially autumn location (probably Pioneers Park). Once there, we would have found the perfect light with plenty of time, and Jason would have played with one of the boys while I captured the carefree shenanigans of the other—tossing leaves up into the air, stacking pine cones, doing somersaults, or looking directly into the camera with an impish grin. Then we’d switch kiddos and I’d catch boy #2 being completely himself as well. The colors would be rich and amazing! There’d be no stray cars or outhouses in the background! The light would take your breath away! The boys would be wearing killer-cute clothes, and their faces would be clean and snot-free!

Ahem. Instead . . .

I decided rather late in the day that the photo shoot should be right! now! I was, of course, neglecting to take into account the fact that the magic hour of light is also the witching hour. So instead of all that stuff I said before, we were looking at a fit that only a three-year-old could throw and that left ME in tears. What was it about? Shoes? Jacket? Candy? I can’t even remember now. As part of the Tantrum Suppression Agreement, we settled for Cooper Park across the street (strike the peaceful lake; strike the tall prairie grasses; strike the woodland paths; cue the playground already fully shaded; cue the grumpy mommy who had something else in mind).

I left the house with the camera and our mostly compliant youngest child, while behind me I could hear Jason and his mom, who is here visiting for the weekend, riding out of the end of the wrath of Simon. I’m not sure what negotiations had to go on, but it wasn’t too long before Simon emerged calmer, almost happy even, and with a dinosaur in tow.

It would be wrong of me to say I learned some profound lesson about gratitude, expectations, spontaneity, or even parenting. At the time, I was able to let go a bit and enjoy the moments of true delight in my adorable kiddos and in my wonderful husband, who never ceases to blow me away with what a great dad he is. Still, if I’m honest, I was still frumping about my expectations being blown, and I went home almost as grouchy and frustrated as when we started.

In the end, I didn’t get all those amazing shots I wanted (and, as I’ve written about before, maybe they weren’t even possible). But, yeah, we had some fun (she admits reluctantly):

And by “Village Pie,” I do not mean Village Inn–esque or anything of the kind. I mean simply that it took a village to make this pie.

Once upon a time, we went to the apple orchard/pumpkin patch with Grandma Morehead and Uncle Hans and Aunt Leslie.

We picked out Simon- and Ian-sized pumpkins (and plenty of apples too). From the beginning, Simon was insistent that we make a pumpkin pie with his find. Did he want to make a jack-o-lantern? Nope, pumpkin pie.

On a Monday two weeks or so later, we roasted the pumpkins.

Except for scooping out the seeds (not my favorite), roasting a pumpkin is surprisingly easy. Simon and Ian were good helpers too. They didn’t like the “yucky strings,” but they did like scraping the insides of the pumpkins once I had most of the grody parts out. I put the roasted pumpkin in Mason jars, where they sat looking beautiful in the refrigerator for another four or five days.

Then on Wednesday Simon insisted it was the day to make the pie. I didn’t have a pie crust (I find the ones in the refrigerator section quite tasty enough and oh-so-convenient), so I thought as long as we’re doing the whole fresh thing, I might as well give making my own crust from scratch a go. I found a recipe that looked pretty straightforward (and, bonus, I had all the ingredients on hand). Simon didn’t want to help this time, but somehow I managed to get the crust made without my little sous chef. The crust then sat in the refrigerator for a couple more days.

On Friday I decided the pumpkin and the crust either needed to be used or frozen, so I asked Jason to roll out the crust. (He is so, so much better at rolling out dough than I am. He learned from his dad, I think. Truth be told, Simon is probably better at rolling out dough than I am. He also paid close attention to Grandpa Morehead. It is a talent I simply do not possess.)

Finally the time had come to make the pie! I found the easiest recipe I could (and made a few modifications to suit my own spice preferences—added cloves, cut back on the nutmeg, e.g.). We (and by “we” I mostly mean Jason) whipped up the filling and popped the crust in the oven to pre-bake just a little).

Meanwhile . . .

Simon must have decided that he wanted a trauma and scar to match Ian’s recent adventures. Just as we were getting Ian’s jammies on, I heard a bump and a scream from Simon’s room. He had been running “weally fast” and tripped somehow and cut his forehead open when he hit it on his space heater. I will say that this was considerably calmer this time than our last trip to the ER. Jason called Rebecca, who came immediately to fetch Ian (bless her! I don’t think she even knew at the time what had happened, just that we were taking Simon to the hospital). Simon was done crying before we even left the house.

We tried to prepare Simon for the fact that he would probably need stitches. He was totally calm on the way to the hospital, dutifully holding a washcloth to his head while he chattered on about how it had all happened. He did say, “Mommy, I don’t like bleeding.” I don’t think anyone does, kid. And his one question when we told him that stitches meant the doctor would sew his forehead up was what a sewing machine for boys looked like. Good question.

He was quite the charmer in the ER, telling everyone who would listen how fast he had been running, that he weighs “firty” pounds, that he’ll be four! on his next birthday, and so on. At one point the nurse told him he was being a very good patient. “Yeah, I suppose I am,” he said. In the end, he didn’t get stitches, just glue (he was disappointed). And by now, you’d hardly know it happened (he has such a crazy amount of hair to cover), but he will have a scar to rival Ian’s.

And back at home (and back to the story of the pie) . . .

Rebecca and Liv came to put the Squisher down to sleep. Jason had turned off the oven but hadn’t thought to take the crust out. Rebecca to the rescue! I am so thankful for friends who took such good care of our kiddo, the pie, and, um, also of our house (I am particularly fond of the “also” link—love the sweet, sly expression).

We ended up baking the rest of the pie after Simon was safely tucked into bed. The end result was really quite good—but probably not quite as good as the saga of getting it made might have warranted.

Sadly, not all the hands involved got to partake of the Village Pie (which has now been polished off), but hopefully Rebecca for one was at least partially mollified by Baked Pumpkin Spice Donut Holes, made from the same pumpkins.

We are having the exterior of our house painted this fall, and I couldn’t be more excited about it. We’re sticking with the same color for various reasons, so perhaps it won’t be as dramatic a change as I’m envisioning, but in any case it certainly does need the freshening up.

Yesterday the painter came to power wash the house. It was thrilling for the boys, and I will say I found it rather relaxing—kind of like living in a carwash. (The report from our furry little neighbor was apparently not so positive, though.)

I was thinking that maybe it wasn’t necessarily so bad, but after the washing took all the “easy” stuff off, I took a look around the house—and yikes! Yes, it’s time.

So now the painter and his crew will be around for the next few weeks or so. Simon is very interested in the ladders stowed back by the garage that we get to “take care of.” And I just have to keep myself from heading out the back door to pick at the paint that’s peeling (everywhere). It’s like a giant scab or like glue on your fingers. So tempting.

“Mommy, remember a long, long, long, loooong time ago? That time we went fishing on Papa’s boat with Daddy and Papa? That was fun, wasn’t it? But we didn’t catch any fish. Nooooooo, we didn’t.”

The Anticipation:

Nobody should be surprised to hear that I was pretty emotional, especially the night before, thinking about sending Simon to preschool. While I know perfectly well that this new season will be good (even great) for all of us, it’s bittersweet. Mainly, I’m really proud of my big kid—I love to think about all he will learn, who he will meet, what fun he will have, what challenges he will have, and on and on. But, oh, I miss him too. He’s been my near-constant companion for close to four years. I wonder, as I suppose all parents must, what he will be like. Will he listen to his teachers? Will they see what a great kid he is? Will he be kind to others? Will he be shy or outgoing? Will he freak out and strip down if he gets his shirt/pants/shoes wet or muddy? Will he be “that kid” (fill in any number of ways to be “that kid” for better or for worse)?

Simon had his own hopes and concerns. He was really excited about his new school shoes—ones he can get dirty. He asked over and over again if Mommy and Daddy or Ian were going to stay with him and what we would be doing while he was at school.

The Morning:

When I asked Simon if I could get a picture of him in his backpack, he took me quite literally:

One of my favorite parts of the morning was finding messages on the sidewalk (thank you, dear friend). Simon was absolutely delighted and said with the sweetest sincerity, “Oh! What a surprise!” Precious.

He seems so little and so big all at the same time.

The Drop Off:

We found the special hook for his backpack and then Simon jumped right in and started playing with the puzzles. I think Ian was planning on staying too.

In all the bustle of the first day (cameras everywhere!), Simon had only one request: “My mommy and daddy, will you stay until River gets here?” I am so thankful that he has a little buddy in his class—I didn’t even know what a blessing that would be. And in the end I did it! I made it without crying. . . . Well, okay, I did cry a little, but not in front of him.

The Meantime:

One of the things I have been looking forward to the most is getting to spend some one-on-one time with Ian. I am not putting any pressure on myself to get anything done during the two and a half hours—and a good thing too because time flies!

Today we went to the zoo, and I had a really good time going at toddler pace. Ian is far more interested in the animals than Simon ever has been (with Simon we mostly dig in the sand and play on the giant dirt mounds). He spent most of the time actually finding the animals in their displays and then pointing them out to me.

One of the things that I loved most about the zoo from Ian’s perspective is that he was equally excited about the leopard and the black bird that landed on top of its cage—the squirrels are just as interesting to him as the wallaby. He does seem to have a soft spot for the otter, though. We said “hi” to him at least fifty times, no exaggeration.

The Report:

At the zoo we ran into a friend who also has a boy in preschool this year. She warned me not to be too disappointed if I didn’t get much of a report out of Simon. I kind of suspected that I wouldn’t but hoped for the best anyway. No luck.

Details (if you can call them that) have come out slowly throughout the day, but he was pretty reticent when I first picked him up. When I asked him if he wanted to go back, though, he said, “Yeah. I think so. Sometime.” It’s a start.

A few more pics of the day’s adventures here.

Twenty minutes in the butterfly house on our way out of the zoo this morning transformed a cranky, whiny kid who didn’t want to walk on his own into a compliant and helpful older brother who then didn’t throw the usual I-don’t-WANT-to-go-home tantrum and (after watching the train pass by twice) got into the van and let me buckle him in with nary a complaint. Amazing. (And totally worth this pregnant mama throwing up when we got home because I didn’t get my lunch on time and got too hungry.)

So we survived our first trip to the ER.* To make a long story short, while we were in St. Louis this past weekend, Ian was climbing on a chair and lost his balance and hit his head on a windowsill. As you can see, four stitches later he is doing just fine and hardly the worse for wear.

I knew when I saw the (really deep!) cut that he would need stitches. I also knew that wounds on the head bleed a lot and that, despite that, I needed to stay calm because Ian would read my fear. I tried. I really did. But, I’m sorry, my BABY had blood running down his face! So much blood—all over him, all over me, all over the carpet and microfiber chair** (which I had actually worried about earlier when Simon scraped his knee near the chair and drew blood), all over the carseat. Seriously, a lot of blood. And, yeah, I panicked. A little. In the whole scheme of things, I think we did alright.

The ER itself was a decent experience, all things considered. They got us in immediately (a toddler’s face covered in blood and and a very frightened mother helped I’m sure). There was no parking, so Jason had to park a couple of blocks away (ugh). The admitting nurse kept telling me, “It looks worse than it is,” which apparently was true because after the initial triage, we waited in a room—long enough for Ian to fall asleep, actually. Then after the drama of getting the stitches (seeing him restrained/helping to restrain him was so, so hard on this mama), we waited again for paperwork (and again, sweet kiddo fell asleep).

I was so sorry to miss dinner with Brook and Lou, Jason, and Chloe, but by all accounts Simon was well behaved and had a good time without us. I can’t even begin to say how thankful I was for our friends.

Jason was, of course, amazing throughout. And later it occurred to me how nice it was to get through the experience together and without any arguing (even in the TAKE THIS EXIT! and NO! TURN HERE! driving moments). I’m so deeply grateful for him and was especially aware of that during this surreal evening. I tried to rehash again with him on the way back home to Lincoln, and his response was so classically Jason: “With all due affection, honey, how many times are we going to have to process this?” So he wrote down his feelings for me, so I would always have a record:

The follow-up literature the hospital gave us said that the scar could be minimized by applying sunscreen once a day for a year. I have mixed feelings about that. In theory, it would be nice to minimize the scar, but realistically, I’m not going to remember sunscreen every day. Also, Jason was a little horrified (or at least feigned horror) at the thought of downplaying Ian’s first “badge of honor.”

* We actually did take Simon to the ER once, but this was our first panicked, bloody, plan-out-what-you’ll-say-to-the-officer-who-pulls-you-over type of trip to the emergency room.
** Apparently, club soda does wonders to remove blood from microfiber and carpet. Blot, don’t rub. Phew!

What are you into right now?

On my nightstand: Jason just got A Dance with Dragons (book 5 in the series a Song of Ice and Fire), so I’ve laid aside all else and picked up A Clash of Kings (book 2).

Want to read: Books 3 and 4 in the aforementioned series, The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Zeitoun, and oh so many more.

TV show worth watching: Can’t wait until Game of Thrones comes out on dvd (a bit of a theme here). Really enjoying White Collar.

Movie I’ve seen (in or out of the theater): Jason and I got to see Tree of Life last week, and he wrote up some good thoughts on it. We also finally watched Harry Potter 7, so now we’re ready for 8.

In my ears: I am loving a mix that Joie Meador made for her wedding a few weeks ago. And I’ve also pulled out Mavis Staples. When we’re in the car, Simon alternatively asks for Joie’s music or Mader Steeps.

What I’m looking forward to next month: Two—yes, two!!—trips. One to celebrate our anniversary (just the two of us!) and one for family getaway. Also, our anniversary (6), my birthday (38), and my sister’s wedding. And even with all that, I’m probably most excited about our “big” ultrasound (and, yes, we hope to find out if this little one is a boy or a girl).

Despite the heat, we had a great day at Lauritzen Gardens and the Durham Museum for this year’s Railroad Days.

More pics of the day on Flickr.