Weekend bits

At The Lad's 2-year well check, an intern helped the doctor determine that my baby was, in fact, perfect. She asked the doctor, as he tried to figure out the computerized growth charts, several questions about development, including when night terrors start. My inner smart kid materialized and I couldn't resist having the right answer, so before the doctor could answer, I said, "Oh, I think right about now. My older son started having nightmares just before his second birthday -- though we never had to deal with terrors, thank goodness. And this one hasn't even had nightmares."

Of course, that week, The Lad woke us up screaming from a nightmare.

The first one was about dragons eating him. And I discovered The Lad, unlike The Boy, is chatty when he has a bad dream. He doesn't want to be talked out of it. No, he just wants to repeat it over and over again. (At 3 a.m.)

This week (at 3 a.m.), he woke up again, screaming this time about an umbrella. It was 3 a.m., so I thought maybe I heard wrong.

"An umbrella bit you, Lad? An umbrella?"

"YES! Umbrella bite me," The Lad said, waving around his hand with his fingers curled down as if they'd been bitten off. "He no see me! HE NO SEE ME!"

Apparently, umbrellas are oblivious and vicious.

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The Boy got a real bike for his birthday, with training wheels. The last two weekends, he's ridden his bike down to the park near our house while Brucie and I walk with him. It's 6/10 of a mile. He's not even winded. His legs don't get tired. Today, the whole family went and the husband and I traded duties on the walk home; he took over the leash and I grabbed The Lad's stroller. Pushing the jogging stroller The Boy has outgrown, I started thinking about the hundreds of times I pushed both the boys around the block while I was on maternity leave with them. My little newborn lumps would fall asleep in the stroller and I couldn't believe someone had entrusted me with something so helpless.

And now, those boys are climbing the tall, twisty slide at the park all alone. The Boy is riding a real bike. The Lad is telling stories. I know I've watched them grow, but I don't know when this happened.

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The Lad has taken to announcing, "POOP COMING!"

He did it in the middle of the bookstore the other day. He did it on the patio this afternoon. He's always right. I'm hoping this is the beginning of the end of diapers.

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The husband ran a 31-mile trail race this weekend. I don't really have a point here other than he's crazy. I'm proud of him, but I also think he's nuts.

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While the husband was running and thanks to a rare weekend babysitter, I went to a book fair Saturday. I sat through a panel with five women authors: Erin Duffy, Marisa de los Santos, Lauren Groff, Jennifer Haigh and Jane McCafferty. De los Santos seemed like the kind of woman I would love to hang out with -- but I loved her so much, I'm a bit afraid to read her books in case I don't like them. Have you ever read her?

I had read Groff's first book, The Monsters of Templeton, years ago and loved it. Hearing her speak made me love it more, and I totally turned fan girl and had her sign a copy. We had some nice chitchat about our small boys.

Jennifer Haigh also made me like the one book of hers I have read, The Condition, more. I picked up her latest, Faith, and it's promising.

Years and years ago, when I was maybe 12 or 13, I wrote a fan letter to Tamora Pierce. I loved her Song of the Lioness series so much. Loved it. So, I wrote to tell her that and ask her advice about being an author -- and she actually wrote me back. I don't know where that letter is now, but I remember being so giddy about receiving it. I sort of felt like that at BookMania! Some girls write fan letters to cute boys; I've always been the kind who geeks out over authors.

Have you ever written a fan letter? To whom? Did they write back?