22 Months Today (the 22nd); Two More Months Until TWO YEARS

Nora. We like her. She's all good stuff with a dash of sea salt in the form of yelped frustration when she can't quite do something she wants (like get her zipper zipped or have the iPod). This morning, nearly every sentence spoken ended with "I think." She's a fiend for dancing. She's mastering the somersault. She melted us into proud puddles with her care of a pulltoy when we were at the thrift store: "Come here, you sweet bean."

There is so much more. But right now I'm just taking this moment in the middle of it all (and there is so much "all" right now, because someone's mother believes that the way to go about things is to open a show, move into a new apartment and knit a Halloween costume all in the same two weeks) to reflect on one clear reason Fall is my favorite season:

The boss called. She's not happy.

Life's gotta be tough for a baby in middle management.
In 1986.