I've been feeling kind of bad lately that I haven't made much of an effort to get Jack outside. It's been cold and wet and he doesn't walk yet, and a crawling baby on cold, wet ground makes for a pretty miserable experience. But then yesterday it was cold enough that the ground was frozen and Charlie was already outside when Jack woke up from his nap, so . . .
I crammed him into the snowsuit and found some tiny mittens for his tiny hands and off we went. All was well until the inevitable happened after about five seconds . . .
Ah yes. Well do I remember the Baby Mitten Battles. Wretched things.
Mittens never, ever stay on a baby's hands. They're off within seconds, and then the baby puts his bare hand on snow and the fun is over.
So that was that.
Also yesterday, Cubby came home with the momentous announcement that his Sculpture was ready to come home. The Sculpture (totally deserving of capitalization, as you will see in a moment), which he made at school weeks ago in art class, has been a subject of conversation for some time now. His Sculpture was the biggest. His Sculpture was acknowledged by his classmates to be the best. His Sculpture was too big for him to carry home and I would have to pick it up in the morning when I dropped him off at school.
I was expecting some collection of, like, pipe cleaners and construction paper. I was not expecting a foot-tall thing made of solid wood and painted in neon pink.
The toy elephant is for scale. Or maybe it's supposed to be the Taj Mahal? It's certainly large enough.
So now in addition to the reams of papers and paintings and worksheets and other priceless treasures my children haul home every day from school, I have to find an appropriately magnificent display spot for The Sculpture.
I think it will look lovely on the dresser in his room. Maybe even along with the elephant.