Gypsy summer, as Bulgarians call the warm autumn that stretches into winter and clings to summer, is finally behind us. Last night we enjoyed the steady pitter-patter of rain on the windowsill, and Raya got startled by lightning and thunder as I nursed her to sleep in her dark bedroom. The air is crisp, and I feel an urge to cook warm meals that include squashes and root vegetables. Our Thanksgiving turkey is already in the refrigerator, purchased in advance as never before in history.
I forgot my camera, or forgot to use it, many times this week, so these are the slimmest Sunday slivers since the venerable tradition started. I offer as excuse the fact that we spent much of the week chasing a newly mobile Raya, who went from wanting-to-hold-one-hand-at-all-times to self-propelled in a matter of days, but is still not immune to face-planting and therefore needs constant supervision. This, for instance, is the best I could do trying to take a picture of her in the library, where she loves to run between a giant Curious George and another giant stuffed bear, then throws herself face down on them and moans delightedly; it is a dear sight, and one that never fails to amuse the librarian who sits right opposite the monkey--
Besides being mobile, she has also, in a matter of days, developed a most serious shoe fetish. Some friends gave her two pairs of holiday shoes, and Raya began a torrid affair with one of those pairs (shiny dark red Mary Janes) pretty much from the second she clapped eyes on them; she wears them at all times when she is home, and if we take them off, she clutches them close to her chest, hugging and sighing and drooling; after the picture below was taken and I took the shoes away from her in order to nurse her, she proceeded to shriek hysterically for about thirty seconds--
As a young person of today's linguistically sophisticated age might say, WTH? As in all things parental, children seem determined to defy our every expectation, and it therefore seems fitting that to us, who pride ourselves on owning the minimum number of essentials, such as clothes and shoes, should fall a girl who at thirteen months is already claiming style. She may be disappointed to find out that her parents are former East Block yokels.
And while on the topic of little missy, it may be worth noting that this past week she suddenly also became very aware of her bodily functions, and especially the one having to do with stinky diapers. Whenever she poops now, or passes gas, she puts one or both hands on her adorably squeezable little butt, and exclaims in a loud voice which ensures that everyone within a five-mile radius can hear her, Aki!!, which is the Bulgarian word for poop...and which is precisely the very best reason why raising your child with an exotic first language that almost no one in her native country understands is beyond doubt an excellent idea. Sava still uses only the Bulgarian words for private parts, and thus, when he tells us in front of company that he peed his pants because the "churka" moved backward instead of forward, it does not seem like such an egregious violation of social code; thus Raya shouting poop! in the middle of the library does not phase us either.
While I am rumored to have been potty trained at eighteen months, I question the individual and collective memory of a bygone age deprived of the archival crutch that is blogging, which is why I find Raya's awareness and articulation of her bodily function at thirteen months fascinating and possibly uncanny. I am not ready to begin putting her on the potty yet, but the thought certainly crossed my mind.
*****
In other news, before the downpours started, we enjoyed the last of the fading sun and warmth. Sava is fascinated with colored leaves, as he also is with flowers; yesterday he and Rado came back from TJ with a huge colorful boquet, which apparently Sava had insisted on buying--
We also inadvertently ushered the Christmas season by choosing to visit the Los Altos History Museum, which features a lovely exhibit of Christmas trains; in fact, we visited not once but twice, and we are sure to go many more times, as the museum is next door to Sava's school--
This week we turn our attention to all we are thankful for and, trite and cliched as this is bound to sound on a blog devoted to my kids, there is nothing I'm more thankful for than the two of them and their father...especially when they choose to engage in the sport most popular at our house these days, commonly referred to as extreme goofiness--
Happy Thanksgiving to all....
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