Last week we got notice that the town was going to repave the road next to our house, the school parking lot (next door) and the primary street we use to access our street. This might sound annoying, or banal, but please keep in mind, we have a truck obsessed preschool boy in our household.
For the past week, we have had the privilege of watching a diverse quantity of trucks parade past our house, multiple times each day. Street sweeper, asphalt cutter, many dump trucks, excavator, tank truck (with water), asphalt spreader, grader, I'm losing track. And below, you can see what Q has been doing all day long.
The poor kid. At breakfast, he'll sit down to eat, and a truck will go by. He runs to the door, watches for a while, returns to the table, takes one bite, and a truck will go by! It is the height of preschool distraction.
The road looks lovely. We're hoping the repaving doesn't send draining water straight into our parking spots.
On other fronts:
Q wants to hear Stellaluna again and again. (A book about a bat raised by birds.)
Noodle is practicing for her future as a bat-head-eating rock star.
She had her 15 month check up yesterday. She's doing great. She is still not quite 20 lbs. Although if I'd given her free rein with the blueberries yesterday, I'm sure she would be. She's 19 lbs, 15.5 oz. (Half an oz shy of 20, if you're weak on English weights.) Which puts her back down in the 10th percentile, which is absolutely fine, I am told. There have to be some babies in this percentile, after all. And we're lucky we got a healthy baby there.
Excuse me, toddler.
We're off for New Hampshire today. It's probably just as well that she's no bigger than she is, since we may lug her on our backs much of this week. I want to be a slacker mom and not worry about packing every item that my children could conceivably want this week. Yesterday, for example, we went blueberry picking and I didn't even pack the girl a diaper. I know how to live on the edge.
I am not intrepid about travel. It's not part of my personality. However, as a concession to the car's limited space, this time I'm pushing the envelope: I'm only bringing two pairs of shoes.