… of kids learning how the world works, I have drawn for your consideration an illustration of what Walter believes will happen if the wind blows hard enough.  

He holds on to the top of his head with this look of panic and screams, “My hair!”

The weather is slowly turning nice again. The other day Walter turned to me and pointed at the sky and said, “Look! The sun’s fixed!” Man, I hope he’s right. 

But this got me thinking about how exactly the sun got fixed (new light bulb?) and who might be in charge of such a thing. Persephone’s mom, Demeter? Probably. 

In other news, I have decided to raise my kids pagan greek. 

Welcome back, Sun!

I know February is supposed to be the month of love but I have a soft spot in my overly-romantic little heart for March. See, I met my husband sometime in March of 2002 (holy crap that’s a long time ago). I’m not sure of the exact anniversary because I didn’t write down in my journal, “Today I met the boy I’m gonna marry!” Mostly because I didn’t have a journal but also because I didn’t know yet. (I was pretty sure after our first date but that’s another story) 

Anyway, we met in the library, which is kind of picture perfect for a bibliophile like me and further proof that the universe approves of this relationship. And when I say, “we met in the library,” what I mean is “he met me in the library.” Because he had arranged it all that way on purpose. But again, I didn’t know any of that yet. I was sitting in the Humanities section using the giant Oxford English Dictionary for my linguistics homework (I have petitioned Matt to get one for our house for sentimental reasons and because it is awesome but since the hard copy is like 20 volumes I haven’t convinced him yet). And this super cute boy walks up to me and says,

“Hey, aren’t you in my music class?” 

And I said, “…um.” (Never seen you before in my life)

And he said, “Yeah, you definitely are. I missed class last Friday. Is there any way I could borrow your notes?” 

And I said, “Okaaaaaaaaay.” And, nonplussed, I handed them over.

And I remember sneakily checking him out and thinking, This is highly suspicious. This boy is adorable but he is either really confused or this is his sick idea of a joke. Maybe I am having a really good hair day or something because he apparently thinks I am some kind of supergirl who dates cool guys who wear smart-people glasses. Well… he’ll figure it out eventually. But maybe I should just sit back and enjoy it until he does. 

So that’s what I did. And he still hasn’t figured it out. 

Wolf, that is. (Sorry – Buffy reference for my sister, Laura, who is the subject of this post) I think we may have worked out some sort of deal in the aether or wherever it is we were before this life that she could have all the ballsiness that was intended for me. Because she has a lot and I have zero.

Laura is currently nine months pregnant and is holding down a job as a zookeeper. Recently, her OB asked her if things at work were alright and if there was anything that made her uncomfortable. I’m guessing that generally when the doctor asks her patients this the answer is something along the lines of “I wish I weren’t on my feet so much,” or “I’d appreciate longer breaks,” or some such. But my little sister’s answer was, “Well, I get a little nervous every time I go into the wolf enclosure because with the snow and ice and me being nine months pregnant I am not very steady on my feet. And the last time I fell while inside the enclosure, one of the wolves went into full on predator mode and tried to eat me. Luckily we had remembered to shut the gate, so all she could do was throw herself against the fence in a wild frenzy of thwarted carnivorous intent. But it could be bad if that happened again.” (Apparently wolves are programmed to exploit any perceived weakness, looking for the easiest prey. A clumsy pregnant omnivore with no claws? Chow time.) Cue my sister’s doctor falling over into a dead faint. 

Just kidding. Laura’s doctor wrote her a note excusing her from any further excursions into the wolf habitat “for fear of slipping, falling, death, and disembowelment.” (Or something along those lines, I’m a little hazy on the details.) Anyway, the point is that the note had to be written in the first place. I mean, really. When I’m nine months pregnant the scariest thing I do is eat chocolate right before bed (because hello – killer heartburn). 

It’s just horrifying enough to be funny. But maybe my sister is wrong. Maybe the wolves wouldn’t try to eat her. Maybe they would just cesarean the baby out with their teeth and then raise her as their own as payment for not eating my sister. Remus and Romulus style (catch up on your Roman myths if you don’t know what I’m talking about). And I have to say, if Laura couldn’t raise her baby herself, animal-lover that she is, having a pack of wolves do it for her truly might be her second choice.

My baby niece with her wolf-mother. I will send her raw meat and a new bone for her hair once a year on her birthday. 

Can’t wait to meet you next month, little wolf-girl! Laura, please stay out of the wolf cage. 

P.S. Wolves are hard to draw.