Dear Diary,

It was a co-op school day, so it was just the boy and me. We walked to Main Street and logged cars by color and make. He didn't seem to like it much, but he's very good at recognizing a car before he sees its badges. He much better liked the bar graph we built to demonstrate the colors of cars we saw, and the pie chart that we made to show which make of car we saw most often. He's a boy of concrete data--just, someone else can collect it. 

Dear Diary,

Do you like Veggie Tales? You should. If you don't know about them, just wait until you have a tiny tot and then find out how awesome they are.

While my daughter recovered, my husband went to register kids for his class. While they were gone, my son had a monopoly on my attention and we started by listening, singing, and dancing to some of his favorite tunes on Grooveshark, including "We Didn't Start the Fire" and "Yoda," as well as some "Silly Songs with Larry" hits from Veggie Tales.

Dear Diary,

It's a long day. My neighbor and boss is back from her honeymoon in Europe and there is work to do. It's  nice getting back into the swing of things, looking at things logically (editing is pretty black and white) as opposed to theoretically (tutoring is remarkably imprecise).  I told her she should write "how the vacation went" and send it to everyone instead of having to tell the same stories endlessly as she reconnects to each new person.

Dear Diary,

There's an upheaval in the family that is nearly 6 months old now. My husband's sister's divorce has really shaken him up. This is a tight family I've married myself into. I live in this town because his sister moved here, who moved because her mother moved here, who moved because her sister and mother moved here. What's really rocking this family knot is that she's more or less divorced the whole of us, not just her husband. I suspect it's because she's afraid of judgement, but by not talking she's left a trail of nothing but judged steps.

I talked to her for real today, the first time since.

Dear Diary,

There is a story of a shawl. I started it near to the beginning of my knitting career, then frogged it in dissatisfaction at my meager skills. The yarn waited. Time passed. The recipient mentioned owning a notable lack of items I'd created with my fiber art. I looked at the yarn. I did not use it. Then, the holiday approached and I had the skills, the time, the art, and the beginnings of the yarn. The shawl was re-born. I worked diligently, choosing the right yarns, the right stitch and pattern and gauge for each yarn. I built the stripes. The holiday closed in and I worked harder and faster. I knit like a madwoman. Then my elbow started to holler, and finally gave out when my shoulder joined in. I had injured myself knitting.

Dear Diary,

Another successful birthday party. The pizza part was funded by Book It! so it was an award and a group event all in one. My son was getting antsy as the pile of gifts next to him had ceased growing, and he said, "Can I open presents now, before anyone else gets up?" I realized I had kept asking him to wait for various people to return to the table, and he was patiently observing that all were presently seated. His maturity smacks me in the face, sometimes. I don't have babies anymore.

Dear Diary,

Today was a day to feel blessed. I have my share of what I consider to be woes, but perpetually-plagued family friends came by and tried to refrain from relating half their woes. One of my student's mother has just learned her eldest son has an addiction, and another mother is faced with a losing battle with bad renters and their outrageous and unfair lawsuit. If one is built to handle everything that comes one's way, I am glad that today, all I have are broken cars and a stolen licence plate. I would like to think I am stronger, but am enjoying the lack of that test.

On a lighter (and ironic note), it's "someday we'll laugh about this" week.