Thursday, January 24, 2008


Pete continues to love rhyming. Today at breakfast, he announced, "I found a rhyme in my bed!" It was a triple rhyme, even: stair and scare came first, then chair. So proud was Pete of himself that, contrary to his usual joy in compiling as many rhymes as possible, he proceeded to deny that anything else rhymes with those words. Bear, we asked? Or hair? Not today, mama and papa. Not today.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

No, it's not a euphemism for death

Pete is now a three-year-old. (Incidentally, because Pete was born on inauguration day, that means the current Presidency also turned three on Sunday.) He had a wonderful birthday: he loved seeing his little friends, he loved his presents, he loved his amazing 17-car train cake from his grandparents, he loved his new fire truck and bath drums. Good thing, too, because none of us had much energy in reserve: he stayed up howling until midnight the night before and got up at six, leaving us with about four hours of sleep. In the morning, to try to get him to settle, I whisked him through the ten-below cold into the car, and we drove parallel to the rising sun until he slept just a little more--a nap that probably got us all through the day. Now, when we get in the car each cold morning, he asks whether we're taking the sleepy ride.

Using your book-learning to vex your father

This morning, after Pete had been rustling in his bed for a little while, he yelled to me, "I WANT TO GET UP!" I walked across the hall and opened his door. When I entered the room, he whimpered, "but not yet!"

(If you get Pete's Augustinian allusion without clicking on the link, bully for you.)

Sunday, January 20, 2008

To the minute

from Carolyn

Pete took his first breath almost exactly three years ago (10:00 p.m.). He's really really great. I've been feeling amazingly fortunate all day. He and I even took a nap together this afternoon--something that only happened a handful of times back when he was an infant. Oh, Sweety P, we love you so much.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Not if you know what's good for you, monster.

We've back from visiting my parents, and Pete has again prompted
Pete to great leaps with language. He's really into rhyming and
stories. At first, he loved having me and Carolyn tell whatever story
we could make up, usually with Pete himself at the center of the
action. Now he constantly injects his own plot events, the majority of
which involve the arrival of new, scary characters. "And then a
monster came!" he volunteers. "And then the witch came

You can bet that those monsters and witches end up regretting the
day they messed with little Pete Simpson.