Vignettes

Winter has made herself known here lately, even though she has been stingy with her snow, hoarding it so that only children west of the Mississippi get to build forts and make snow angels.

Instead of glistening, glittering snow, she has sent icy cold winds that bite at your skin and freeze your nose. Cold so bitter it seeps through the cracks and wrinkles in our nonagenarian home, leaving a thin film of ice on the dog's water bowl as a breakfast greeting. Cold that freezes your fingers to the metal of the doorknob and the iron stair railing when you step outside so the dog can relieve himself.

I bury myself under blankets and those little packs full of beans that you stick in the microwave for two minutes to get toasty toe warmers. I fill my belly with hot tea, hot cocoa and more hot tea, but part of me is still frozen.

*****

The Tominator has discovered hugs. Every once in a while I'll be washing dishes or cooking or otherwise occupied in the kitchen, and I'll feel a sudden attack on my legs, a 25-pound linebacker aimed right at my knees.

"Hugs, hugs, hugs!" he says, and then he's gone, and I hear him crash into his ball pit. "Boom!" he chuckles. "Boom!"

*****

The Tominator has also discovered the potty, without any effort on the part of myself or SuperHubby. On Monday, Tom was having a fit trying to turn the doorknob on the bathroom door. I finally figured out what he wanted and opened the door for him. He walked over the toilet, lifted the lid and tried to sit down.

Being a bit slow, I had no idea why he was doing this. "Do you need to potty?" I asked, confused.

He stared at me with a look that clearly said "DUH!" and continued to try to sit on the toilet.

So off came his diaper, and I got into the age-old holding toddler over potty pose. And sure enough, he had to go.

I was pretty sure it was just a fluke, but when he asked to go again this morning, we headed out to the store to get him his own seat for the toilet. We'll see how this goes.