The 43

Is it just me, or does November seem to be dragging, and dragging, and dragging ... Maybe because Thanksgiving was so early, but this month just doesn't seem to be ending. That said, I've been recollecting on Novembers past, thinking about three, 25, 20 and 10 years ago. Allow me to reminisce: -- 1982: This might be the one autumn from grade school I remember the most vividly. I started my first paper route, the Harlem-Foster Times weekly, the day after Election Day, and the paper pulled a Dewey-beats-Truman in declaring Adlai Stevenson Jr. defeated James Thompson for Illinois governor. So the first news I ever delivered was inaccurate. Also, I remember watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade and seeing Laura Branigan sing "Gloria" and Paul Williams sing "You and Me Against the World" to a giant Olive Oyl float. Only significant because Wife remembers the same parade moments, meaning at that time, 11 years before we met, we were watching the same thing...

Thanksgiving is in a few days, and I know it's an early Thanksgiving this year, but if feels like March here in Utah, as it got to 70 degrees today. With no leaves on the trees, it almost felt like March. Alas, that's still four months away. I took the boys to the park again, where they didn't need jackets. I did put a 12-month-sized jean jacket on Littlest this morning, thinking it was the last time he'd probably ever wear it -- it's supposed to cool off. It is indeed a weird convergence -- no leaves on trees, it's Thanksgiving week, it's 70 degrees, and there are three radio stations playing just Christmas music. If you just dropped me into this setting after being in suspended animation, I might not have any idea what time of year it would be. I'm sure that will change next week, as the colder weather sets in and the Christmas bombardment gets into high gear. Until then, I'm hoping the warm weather lasts just one more day.

It's been a rough week -- we're having problems with Eldest's preschool, something hopefully I'll address in another post -- but we had a nice dinner tonight at Chili's, of all places. I want to relate two things that made it joyful: -- Eldest didn't eat a lot, but after two really antsy minutes, he settled down and was good the rest of the meal. I brought a train for him to play with, Salty (from Thomas the Tank Engine), who has a Scottish accent. I tried imitating the voice for him, but it sounded like the old sea captain on The Simpsons instead. After my bad impression, Eldest, as he played with the train, mimicked my bad Scottish accent, making his voice so gruff he had to cough a couple times. -- Littlest ate almost a whole plate of macaroni and cheese. I don't know where the skinny guy puts it. He tried to use his spoon, too, and did a good job with it for an 18-month-old. No complaints, no fussing, he just sat there and ate, and ate. As I said, it was...

It was a dad-and-son day with just Eldest and me today. He did really well, with the usual annoyances of a 3-year-old, and we had a lot of fun. But he wasn't perfect ... Incident No. 1 happened at church. Now, a 3-year-old sitting through a whole Mass is perhaps impossible, preschoolers are simply not biologically wired to be solemn for an hour (especially after an hour of CCD). However, Eldest made a friend, a girl in the pew in front who was maybe 4 or 5. They quiely compared missalettes and quietly kept each other occupied for the Liturgy of the Eucharist. Communion came, and he wanted to walk up toward the altar with her, never mind any sort of waiting our turn to get into the aisle. Eldest tried to get by a woman ahead of us and accidentally kicked her, drawing a huffy tsk. I angrily picked him up, apologized to the woman twice, and carried him up to communion. We got back to the pew where he hugged me and felt sad. I hugged him back and told him everything we were going to do...