I recently read an interesting short article about why fiction readers tend to me more empathetic. Makes me want to read more fiction. Or read more, period.
Ansel is growing and developing at laser-like speed. His hair is growing really fast too, and it makes him look older. This morning I got out some long sleeved onesies labeled 18-24 months. "These will be too big," I thought to myself. The child is 22 months old but for some reason that fact has not been fully comprehended by myself. I said this with Ollie, and I'll say it again with Ansel, it is very neat to watch a child at this stage. It is amazing what a 22 month old picks up. Below are a few tidbits of life with Ansel:
- he carries a little bear around and it seems that his pacifier must accompany it. So when asking for these items he says, "bear, pass". These items mean a lot to him. The other day he was going down the stairs with bear/pass and Oliver's snow boots on and proceeded to fall down. I was shocked and rushed to see if he was okay. All he was concerned about was "bear, pass" which he found and was completely fine thereafter. Forget about the falling down a few stairs part.
- when we read a book about the circus and we get to the part about strong men he flexes his muscles and says, "strong men!" In his lowest voice.
- he loves high pushes on the swing. I gave him one heck of a push at the park the other day and one of the parents there said, "wow, he sure knows how to hold on tight!" This Ansel lives extreme.
Look at these faces. These are the totally focused, nothing-can-bother-me looks the boys give when they are watching an ok go music video. They are entranced. Their cousins introduced them to this and if you haven't seen the latest, I'm here to introduce it to you.
As I've admitted on this blog many times before, I have a problem baking things. I mean to say, I have a problem enjoying baking things and so sometimes, for no apparent reason, I whip something up. With the day's getting cooler and daylight savings making our nights darker even earlier, I've gone into baking mode. Nothing is more welcoming than a warm oven and the sweet smell of cinnamon or pumpkin, or chocolate chips. Or in today's case: pear bread pudding. I love bread pudding, however, it must be homemade.