You never get cookies at the Mexican restaurant.

Si and Jude have taken to calling one of our cats “a piece of toast.” They explain earnestly that Emmy is just a cat, but Septimus is a piece of toast. I have no idea where this came from, or why. Sometimes my boys are unfathomable. Their favorite epithet for each other is Pophead. It started as Pockethead (equally mysterious) and has devolved into Pophead which seems to be considered appropriate for just about every occasion. The other night Dan told Jude to go wash his hands, and Jude did his usual: “No!” then stomped off to the bathroom to wash his hands, muttering “Pophead!” as he went. Dan and I could not even look at each other. Why our two-year-old behaves like a teenager is a question I will have to ponder another time.

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An old friend of Dan’s has two great kids who are several years older than my boys, one of whom is a boy. They often send us these enormous boxes filled with great stuff, like hand-me-down clothes (always nice quality and well taken care of – it’s the only way my guys get to wear Ralph Lauren!), puzzles, toys, and books. Another package came today and the boys were so excited to open it. Jude was psyched because they sent some Blue’s Clues toys (he already has them but he was so thrilled that I just let him play with them anyway); Simon immediately picked up the books (there were about a dozen) and has been reading ever since. In fact, I went in a few minutes ago to turn off his bedroom light and they were both sitting on Si’s bed engrossed in books. (The other night Si was reading to Jude. He’s a good big brother.) It was so cute I just left – another few minutes not-asleep will be ok. Si is *so* my child – I know only two or three other people who would be as excited by someone sending them books as I am, and now apparently Simon is. I always used to worry, What if I have kids who don’t like to read? Apparently this is not going to be an issue with these two. Thank God, since I would pretty much rather read than just about anything else.

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I had forgotten the soothing power of music. Due to my auditory overload issues, I can go for long periods of time without having to listen to any sort of music. When I am in the house by myself, I like it silent. But for some reason I brought Dar Williams’ Beauty of the Rain in the car with me this morning, and listened to the first song, "Mercy of the Fallen," about a gazillion times on the way to work and on the way home. I just get lost in her lovely, intricate lyrics, and her husky voice. I love Dar Williams. She totally made my bad day better. (Well, her and Finslippy, who made me laugh so hard I was crying at the ref desk this morning.)
Lyric-wise, Dar is my all-time favorite songwriter. (Indulge my adolescent angst for a moment here.)
The first time I heard these lyrics (“After All”, Green World), I cried. And I still do sometimes. How did she know?
And it felt like
A winter machine that you go through and then,
You catch your breath and winter starts again,
And everyone else is spring bound.
And when I chose to live, there was no joy, it's just a line I crossed,
It wasn't worth the pain my death would cost,
So I was not lost or found.

And this whole song, Iowa. Does it get any more perfect than that?

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Two hundred pages left in The Historian. If not for two children and my job, I’d have been done by now. It’s the kind of book I’d have stayed up all night to finish when I was childless, but at the same time hating to finish it. If it tanks now, I’d be shocked. So everyone go buy it so Elizabeth Kostova can be wealthy and write more!

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And now for a public service announcement:

Starbucks Green Tea Frappucino - YUCK.