From snowsuits to sunscreen in 4 days flat

I finally have an answer to the question I've been asking myself daily since March 15: "Will spring ever arrive?"

The answer is no.

We skipped spring and went directly to summer. Seriously. Tuesday morning, there was snow on the ground. By Friday, I was wearing sandals to work. Today it's 25 degrees C (77 degrees F), sunny and gorgeous. Quite a turnaround.

But for some reason or another, Henry doesn't want to play outside today. He's refusing to go the park. What almost-3-year old doesn't want to go to the park on a sunny Sunday afternoon? He claims he's still traumatized about the biting incident that took place at the park last fall, but I think I may have inadvertently fed him that excuse. He does talk about it from time to time, though, so maybe he really is scared that he'll run into that kid again. Who knows. I guess we'll just forget about the park and drag him, kicking and screaming, to play in the yard.

Kids are so weird.

Our exciting weekend getaway to travel hell

Grandma's been visiting for the past 10 days or so. Henry is really enjoying her company. Tom and I took the opportunity (i.e., the live-in babysitting) to head down to New York for a weekend of child-free fun. Overall, it was a great time. I love being in Manhattan, for all the typical reasons: the food, the vibe, the variety, the culture, the shopping. We flew in early Friday morning, checked our bags at the hotel, and walked up to the Museum of Modern Art to spend a few hours looking at paintings. MoMA is one of the NY museums I hadn't visited before last weekend, as it's been under construction/ renovation for so long. We followed that up with dinner in SoHo with our friend Karin, a lovely sightseeing walk through town on a sunny Saturday, more food, some jazz, and general RnR. It was a great couple of days.

However, on Sunday morning we awoke to a pounding rainstorm. The volume of water reminded me of Tropical Storm Gaston, which hit Richmond a few years back and caused all manner of flooding and chaos. It wasn't quite that bad, but Manhattan did get over 7 inches of rain in less than 12 hours. The drenching showers put the kibosh on our plan to line up for rush tickets to an afternoon show on Broadway. We headed to the Guggenheim instead for a few more hours of culture before heading out to the airport. The museum was great, but getting there and back, even though this involved only a few block of walking to and from subway stations, was an adventure. By the time we headed back to the hotel to retrieve our luggage, the streets were inundated with water, the wind had picked up, and we got thoroughly drenched. The hotel let us use their changing rooms to dry off, but I was still pretty damp and anticipating an uncomfortable flight home. Little did I know that I wouldn't be seeing the inside of a plane for another 24 hours.

Unfortunately, our flight home didn't get canceled until we were literally at the counter trying to check in. Given the conditions, and the fact that nothing was flying, I don't know why they couldn't have canceled it several hours ahead of time. At least we could have saved the cab fare to La Guardia. The ticket agent re-booked us on a flight for 9 p.m. the next day, so we knew we weren't going anywhere soon. Rather than spend $300 to stay near the airport, we decided to head back to our Manhattan hotel for the night (not that it was any cheaper–but at least we knew what we were getting. And, it was in Manhattan, not Queens). Before we went to bed I put my Amazing Race skills to work and got us re-re-booked on a 12:30 flight out of Newark. I felt resourceful and cunning. It never occurred to me that they'd still be canceling flights the next day.

I did call the airline right before we left the hotel, and our flight was on schedule. No delay, no cancellation, according to the machine. So we schlepped off to lovely Newark, only to be told, again, the minute we tried to check in, that the flight had just been canceled, and we would be re-re-re-booked for 8 a.m the next morning. I may have shed a few tears at this point. With visions of our bank account deflating before our very eyes (not to mention our desire to be reunited with Henry), we were determined not to spend another night in New York. The ticket agent was slow, marble-mouthed and generally ineffective, so I just let him book us on whatever and returned to the phones to see how we could get the hell out of there. Finally we got something for the late afternoon, and we hunkered down to spend the day watching the skies, watching the departures board, and waiting to see if the flight would actually take off. My belly had earned me some sympathy points at the check-in counter, and even though they couldn't get me home right away, they did give us passes to the executive lounge. So at least we spent the day in relative comfort. After a 4-hour delay from its original departure time, our flight did take off, and one frustrating stopover in Toronto later, we were headed home. We walked in the door just before midnight, only one day behind schedule.

Surprisingly, given how much I fly, I think this was the first time I ever got stranded somewhere because of weather. Hopefully I won't repeat the experience again anytime soon. Tom and I did learn a lesson of sorts: when you've got a small child to think about, it's probably best to keep your weekend getaways within driving distance. Because of our troubles, Mom has to change her flight back. Besides that, Henry did just fine without us. In fact, when I woke him up the next morning, he didn't cry "Mommy!" or any such thing. He calmly contemplated my face and said, "Grandma told me that you went on a vacation." That's exactly what he said. Very matter-of-fact Then we had a cuddle and I gave him his present–a book about a dinosaur counting to 10. And just like that, life was back to normal.

The Count

Over the past few weeks Henry has made big strides in his ability to count and understand numbers. Watching the process unfold has been fascinating. It started with our habit of saying "five more minutes" and holding up five fingers when we need to transition from one activity to another. At first this was just an arbitrary verbal cue; we could have said "purple jello kitten" and it would have had the same effectiveness--i.e., it wasn't like we were actually counting minutes, we just needed a consistent way to tell him he'd soon have to stop what he was doing. But Henry started mimicking us, saying "five more minutes?" while holding up 5 fingers. That was the first connection. Pretty soon he started asking about other numbers. Tom and I spent a lot of time showing him how to count to five on his fingers, and saying "four" while showing four fingers, etc. Henry practiced actually holding up the right combinations, which took some work just in terms of dexterity (figuring out that he could use his thumb to hold down his pinkie was key to nailing the number 3). Anyway, I think that the tactile element of holding up fingers while saying the number formed a real bridge in his mind between the name of each number and its value. I now feel like he understands numbers and counting in a way that he doesn't yet grasp with letters. I mean, he can sing the alphabet song and identify some letters when prompted, but he's a long way from decoding the whole system of letters/sounds/words/meaning. But it really does look like the connection is coming together with numbers. He now notices page numbers in his books and likes to talk about them. He's starting to grasp the idea that you can put two numbers together and make a different number (e.g. 2 & 3 is "23"). He can count items on a page (although he's not 100% accurate all the time). It sounds like small stuff, and a year from now I'm sure he'll be counting to some high number and back without thinking twice about it, but for now, watching him work it out is remarkable.

It still boggles my mind to realize that 10 months ago, Henry could say only the most basic two-and three-word phrases. Now he babbles away about anything and everything, telling stories complete with narration and dialog, and even corrects his mother's pronunciation of the Latin names of various dinosaurs. The changes happen so quickly. It's been a remarkable year.