The Babs

The crazy last days of the semester draw nearer. I'm ready for the summer vibe at work, indeed. The kid is so rad these days. I can't believe he's our guy, we are so lucky. The words are tumbling out of him, they make us laugh six thousand times a day. We are teaching him the names of flowers and trees, and he is totally game. Ask him, he'll tell you about the Jack-in-the-Pulpit at the top of the ridge, he'll school you on Daisy Fleabane and Lyre Leaved Sage and Solomon's Seal and the Buttercups dotting the meadows here. He knows that he can eat violets and clover leaves and redbud blossoms, and we are already haunting our berry spots just in case we find the magic April strawberry. I take a lot of pleasure in giving him this kind of geography: this is where you're from, kid.

Sometimes when he's quiet for too long and one of us gets the spider sense that he might be up to mischief, we tiptoe through the house and find him. Sometimes he has invented new naughtiness (discovering the case of figs in the closet, for example) but more of often than not these days this is what we see:

  

   

Kicking it with Miss Rumphius. He especially likes to pretend to eat the cookies and drink the tea.

Last funny tidbit: Osh often asks for music. Sometimes he wants B and me to play tunes ("Mama - g'tar! Papa - fiddle and bow!") and sometimes he asks for one of three artists: Andrew Bird, Gillian Welch, or Pete Rock. I mean seriously, how awesome is that playlist?? Oh, and every now and again he requests Mos Def. We'll get right on that.