Well, Éowyn and I are back from Whitehorse – we’ve been home almost a week now. It’s funny that only two weeks away made my own home seem so strange to me. It felt really empty (there’s actually an echo in here, it doesn’t SEEM empty but it’s not exactly full I guess…?) and really, really quiet. It’s not a bad thing, or a great thing, it’s just different from my parent’s place. It didn’t take long to get back into our routine of cooking, cleaning, making a mess, playing, grocery shopping etc.
Éowyn was pretty thrilled to see her DaddyMan… she’s been right lovey since we got back, she’s really picked up on tackling people and crawling all over them for kisses and hugs – I’m LOVING it. At night Stephen will download a show on the Xbox and we’ll all sit on the couch to watch it before bed, and by the end of it she’s usually flopping around from one to the other of us and tickling, kissing, hugging, or just rubbing her curly head all over us.
I don’t have too much time, and I’m still kind of figuring out how to make the pictures I took and uploaded at my folks’ place look good on our computer, and I think I left the card reader in the box I mailed to myself so it’ll be a few more days before I can get new pictures uploaded (I’ve got a great 18mo picture sitting on the camera, I really want to get that edited up.) but I *will* leave you with this.
Now, this picture has always sort of niggled at me. It reminded me of something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and it drove me nuts whenever I looked at it. Finally, Stephen got Éowyn a copy of Maurice Sendak’s “Where The Wild Things Are” for Christmas and as I was reading it to her (reading it to MYSELF while she threw herself around on the floor in agony over the fact that I wouldn’t let her EAT THE SOFT PAGES, rather) it hit me.