Halloween

This year was Nora's first time trick-or-treating, and we talked about it for weeks and weeks ahead of time. We had more than one meltdown when Nora decided she wanted to trick or treat RIGHT THEN and couldn't understand why she had to wait.

I have a philosophical objection to store-bought costumes. Growing up, we raided my mom's closet for costume ideas, which resulted in endless variations on the "hobo" and "gypsy" looks (Mom, what does that say about your wardrobe?). Motherhood, however, has so far kept me too busy to actually do many of the domestic duties I associate with motherhood, so off to Old Navy we went to check out their costume selection.

We looked at a lot of costumes I thought Nora would fall for right away-- monkey, doggy, butterfly, princess even-- but each was met with a scornful "NO!" Finally I turned to the "boy" rack and pulled a racecar driver outfit out. "Would you like to be a racecar driver?" I asked? "Yeaaaaaahhhh!" she breathed, and it was decided-- much to her father's delight.

For the next two weeks, however, whenever anyone asked her what she was going to be for Halloween, she eagerly responded, "Butterfly!" So just to be safe, I got her some butterfly wings and a little tulle skirt.

Here she is on a trial run of the backup outfit:

But when the big day finally arrived, Nora was firmly in Camp Racecar Driver. Here she is posing with her daddy, a "Pleasant Ridge Chili-an Miner."

Her first trick or treat.

Carefully inspecting her draw.

With Itsy

Checking out the neighborhood's newest little bug.

Hay Ride

There's a wonderful organic farm that's surprisingly close to our neighborhood and welcomes families for a variety of educational activities. We signed up for a hay ride and had a pretty awesome time. Nora still talks about it (and it's December now). It also made me want to be a farmhand, which I'm pretty sure means I don't have a good grasp on what all the job responsibilities would be.

Look behind you. BEHIND YOU!

Picking turnips to feed the sheep.

The farm's most exotic resident.

Pumpkin Picking

I have to tell you how brave and independent Nora was her first time on a ride where she couldn't see us the whole time. We bought her a ticket for this "choo-choo train" made of old water barrels or something, half thinking she'd freak out at the last minute and not want to ride. Not only did she have zero anxiety about going into the little car all by herself, she displayed not a moment's doubt as the tractor pulled away with all the kids inside. I, on the other hand, couldn't take my eyes off it as it drove off with her inside.

Can you see how far away the "choo-choo" went? You can barely make it out on the other side of the pumpkin patch.

Nora spent a lot of the ride waving at strangers like a parade queen.

Fall Photos

Yes, I know it's December, and this post is a month or so late. I've been up late doing work-work for weeks at a time, and I'm finally getting my evenings back. So I'm going to post some cute photos now and-- hopefully-- come back soon to add some clever commentary.

We went hiking in the woods...

We went to Rouster's for apples, cider and some time by the big fireplace with friends.

... We giggled and rolled around a lot, too.

Save the drama for your mama.

My daughter enjoys gazing at herself in the mirror while she cries.

Yesterday she was mad at me for something-- making her wait to eat her "iceberries" until after dinner, maybe-- and in the middle of weeping piteously she abruptly stopped and said, "I wanna see in the mirror." We both got a good laugh and went into the living room to find the hand-held mirror, and I went back into the kitchen to finish dinner amid a chorus of "Oh hoo-hoo-hoo's" from the other room.

I love these moments when she seems to admit, with a sly smile and a laugh, that her crying is not always 100% authentic.

This may be a good place to admit that I totally get the indulgent pleasure of watching oneself cry. I've done it myself, most recently probably during my teen years, when drama was easy to come by and I hoped that anyone seeing me cry would be moved by my tragic beauty and possibly fall in love with me. I'm pretty sure that never happened, though.

Nora-isms

"It's too fit." = "It doesn't fit; it's too small."
"I wanna nice." = "I want to be nice to (pet) the doggy."
"I wanna self." = "I want to do it by myself."
"iceberries" = frozen blueberries (the best treat in the world; sweeter than thawed blueberries, and with the texture of a softened popsicle.)

Mary Catherine

Last week, we said goodbye to my father's sister, Mary Catherine. She was a quiet, gentle woman who remembered every occasion with a handwritten note (and usually a $10 bill earmarked for ice cream sodas at Aglamesis or some other small pleasure). She spoke in a low voice, saved her mother's Irish linen, and surprised me a bit by delighting in the chaos that Nora brought into her quiet, orderly home.

My grandmother Peg gave Mary Catherine this Claddagh ring when she was a girl, and she in turn presented it to me when I turned sixteen. When Nora's old enough, I'll pass the ring along to her.

According to Irish tradition, one may not buy a Claddagh for oneself; it must be given as a gift. The heart represents love; the crown, loyalty; and the hands, friendship. I hope that, in addition to those virtues, Nora will inherit some of Mary Catherine's gentle nature and generosity.