T. had her big seven year-old check-up yesterday. She's been asking about it for weeks now. She actually loves to go to her well-child visits, and looks forward to hearing about how she's grown. Lately, though, she's been anxious about this appointment because she's been hoping that her pediatrician will give the go-ahead for her to move from a car seat with a five-point harness, into a "big kid" booster.

On Saturday, while T. was at her ice skating lesson, I took L. to run a few errands with me. We took a roundabout way to the stores, because I had to stop for gas and for money. Our route took us through a particular neighborhood—one we used to drive through daily when we lived in our old house. We still do drive that way from time to time but for some reason, that day, L. sat up and took special notice.

“Hey,” he said. “This is our old neighborhood!”

The other night I had a good talk with L., about things that have been going on at school lately.

We talked about middle school, and about how good it can be to think of next year as a clean slate--a chance to meet new kids, to have a fresh start; so that even if it seems a scary transition, it could be a great and exciting one, too.

He talked about "fixing the things" in himself that were preventing people from liking him, and it was at that point my heart broke more for him, as it does every time my kids feel inadequate, or "unliked" or alone.

If Tuesday was through-and-through a dog-poopy sort of day (literally and figuratively), Wednesday redeemed itself. It had been shaping up to be pretty bad, since it was a day promising two meetings, with the afternoon one involving the monthly juggling I find so exhausting: picking up the kids early, dropping them off at Scott's office, and then racing back to my campus to sit in a late afternoon meeting when all I want to do is be home. But the meeting got cancelled! When I got the e-mail about this I felt a surge of disproportionate happiness.

We've settled into a strange place with L. and this whole Santa business. He doesn't talk about Santa much, and we haven't revisited the conversation we had that afternoon at the craft store. We continue our traditions and L., for the most part, has been good about keeping a lid on his doubts.

It all started about three weeks ago. L. and I were getting into the car at 8:00 am on a school morning, and just as he'd slammed shut his car door and I was doing my routine three-point turn around on the cul-de-sac so we could head off to school, L. said: "Mama, I know you and Papa have been lying to me."

There's nothing like being accused of lying--by your oldest child, no less, to make your heart go pitter-patter very rapidly. Even at 8:00 am.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

When I was back home this summer, visiting my parents and siblings, I found myself in the basement, looking for something or other. I glanced up on the top of one of the metal shelves and saw, bundled together, two pairs of old Dutch wooden ice skates. They look just like the picture at the bottom of this web page. I think we kids each had a pair of them once, although why there are only two left, I don't know. I took the skates down, and weighed them in my hand.

Our house has been decorated to the nines for some weeks now in preparation for Halloween. The day we broke out the decorations T. was beside herself with excitement. As we pulled out the Rubbermaid bins with the decorations we spied the Christmas bins lurking not far behind them, and then on top of a shelf I found the Thanksgiving placements from the preschool years: T.'s with her funny handprint leaves and L.'s with a splash of colors.

T. has a cold. It's not one of those stay-home-from-school colds (thank goodness), but one of those I-feel-cruddy-at-night colds. Most nights, on average, T. sleeps in her own bed until about 6:00 am or so. On weekends she'll wake and come rushing into our room, where she'll climb into bed between us, snuggle down, throw her arm across my neck, and we all go back to sleep--until 8:30 or even 9:00 in the morning. As T.'s grown older, she's been spending more and more time in her own bed, just as I expected she would.

I had a good birthday yesterday--low-key and unremarkable--in all the right ways. I went to work, gave my class two extra points on their quizzes (because it was my birthday), picked up the kids, and in the evening we went out for Italian--always my favorite meal to eat out, when it's MY turn to pick. That morning both kids were surprised to find, yet again, that I had no plans to open my presents at 7:00 a.m., take the day off, and lounge in bed with a good book.