I think I've been posting a lot lately because my husband is off backpacking with some guys in Moab, Utah. Yes, I'm jealous. No, I didn't expect to be! And, although Punk's language is amazing and he's quite conversant, it's just not the same. So, I'll just tell YOU some of our happenings of late!

When A's not here, I tend to avoid being home too. So, Punk and I ran around town a bit yesterday--picked up photos of the kids at Costco, visited "Mrs. Jones" at the jewelry store at the mall, shoe shopped, and stopped at the toy store for Punky. Of course, when it was time to go, he threw a fit (it's the age, I know). So I picked him up, locking him into my patented tantrum-hold (horizontally across my middle with one of my arms supporting his head and the other between his legs, hands grasping each other--this is secure for the kicking, screaming, wriggling toddler, and fairly comfortable and easy for the mother--and generally avoids getting hit or kicked in the process). Well, we were about half-way to the door when I felt something around my sternum burst. I was not embarrassed by my son's behavior (we were in the toy store, for heaven's sake--if you're in the toy store, surely you sympathize), but I flushed bright red. All that wriggling and churning had loosened the front-closure clasp of my bra and the elastic-y band flung open the gates! YIKES! I was panicking! I tried to use Punk to hold everything together. Not such a smart plan, but what's a girl to do?! When I finally got the raging octopus buckled into his carseat (boobs and bra hanging out and doing who knows what?), I climbed into the privacy of the darkened glass and fixed myself up. I need to rethink my hold or my bras or something! Wonder if we're gonna show up on the internet from someone's cell phone camera or something!

On the flip-side of the wacky toddler coin... This morning we were going to the grocery store to pick up a few things. On the way out the door, Punk announces, "OH! I forgot my toy." I had to move the potted plants out into the sun anyway (they've been ducking into the garage at night for solace from the cold). So, he comes out with one of his large (compared to a toddler) toy bins and puts it into the van before climbing in himself. In the bin (which can hold hundreds of things) were a book, Little Bear, and a jeep. So, we're rolling down the driveway and Punk peeps up, sounding like he's mostly talking to himself. "I bring da jeep for Pence, da bear for Pea, and da book for Punky." Isn't that soooo sweet?! A few miles down the road he says, "Mama, Pea's sick" in a sad and mournful tone. "Well, honey, Mrs. Barber just emailed me and it sounds like she's doing better!" Thoughtfully, he asks: "Pence's all better?" "Uh, Pence was not sick, so he's well too." Brightly, "Pea and Pence come to my house now?!" It's so horrible to have to tell him "Not yet, in a few months." Not that he understands time at all. But, it makes me sad.

Soon, soon--and then all this waiting will be a distant memory.