Pritty Twee

I woke up today feeling like my body was packed with hot sand. Every muscle was complaining. While that feeling has passed and I have successfully propped myself in an upright position, I feel like wet dog food today.

We went to bed at a decent hour last night, but a freak Wizard of Oz wind storm kicked up all night long, slamming against the house or making every window vibrate as if we were on a Greyhound bus traveling at 60 miles per hour down the interstate. Huge raindrops assaulted the siding of the house and continue to hit my office window. On top of that, I was called into action in the darkness by a little boy wearing a soiled diaper and had some trouble returning to the state of poor quality sleep I did manage to achieve. Urgh.

Erik and I walked down the sidewalk to his school yesterday and saw a staff member whose name I have, regrettably, never bothered to learn. Erik looked up at her from his pigeon-toed stagger and greeted her with a very Sylvester Stallone-like, "CARE-ULLL!" Apparently, her name is Carol. She was certainly surprised to hear this from the normally quiet, drooling, motionless kid in class. He will now lie on the diaper table at home and look up at his photo board, where I have everybody's babies' photos displayed, and he will run through all of their names, from Tatum and the WS friends he has never met to Brayden and Brogan, the cousins he can't stop talking about. For those of you with a small Williams child, this is just a tiny glimpse into the future. There is a lot about this syndrome that completely blows my mind, and some of the genetically-programmed wonderful weirdness is now beginning to show itself. The skill with names and faces is incredible. Erik may not be able to walk down the street very well and runs in terror from small appliances, but he knows your face, whether he has met you or not, loves you, and wakes up talking about you.

The Christmas season seems to have dislodged a nasty block I had in my creative streak, and I am feeling the need to add to this blog. Someone commented earlier about wishing they could hear Erik speak, and I have signed up for a service that allows me to call an 800 number and record messages to feature here on this page. The trick is to use my the old Dictaphone I acquired from the doctors I used to work for and record Erik saying things so cute Bill Cosby would be proud. I am also looking into making some videos for you to display here. We'll see how far this energy takes me before I collapse in a sugar cookie-scented heap in front of the Christmas tree.

Speaking of our tree, here are some photos. When I balanced on the ladder to apply lights to the tip-top, I was in the middle of watching that scene from Christmas Vacation in which Clark Griswold was putting up their holiday light display and managed to staple his glove to the house and fall into the bushes. I almost giggled myself to my own bough-covered demise.