This Sunday Brought to You by Winter Hats, Nap Relief, and Relaxing Neighbor Visits

I found the desiccated pea and you took it from me, just as I raised it to my mouth; I found the gravel pellet, showed it to you and you took it from me; I moistened the lint, gummed it and, with a finger hooked into my mouth, you took it from me. I pull myself to standing, rock my hips back and forth, and vigorously point to the table, emitting a low proto-whine and still you do not give me the exact thing that will make things better, the solution to the day, the moment. It is raining outside and cold; there will be no stroller walk and proximity to the crib or changing table makes me cry. The jazz is more spirited than either of us feel.

I found your hat. It was near the red wooden dancing chicken and the blocked off kitchen drawers. I brought it to you, though it impedes my crawling -- I am a three-pronged crawler with a big knit hat sloping down my by torso. You put it on your head and lower it so I can take it off, which I do. Again. I relish it! You can not wear it on your hand. You can not wear it on your hand. Your elbow will not do either: your head! WHAT I can not wear it, I can not see, I wobble and hah! I am free. Again: On your head. On your head. On your head. I give it, you take it, I take it back. I relish it! You set the hat aside: NO. When you stand, I can not reach your head and the hat is on the floor again, this is not the game. You awakened this need in me, you can not abandon it for...what? A cutting board? Must I weep and make myself small, snug myself between your legs and the counter, clutch your pants and sway as if in a gale, staring only at your face? My whole body shakes with the wrongness of you standing, of you robotically opting for food prep over the floor and me and hats. I toss up a volley of B-sounds, I am boiling over with frustration, with protest.

*** There have been 3.5 times the normal crying jags today, making for a somewhat rough Sunday. Happily, the little one tired herself out and is (knock on wood) now napping*. I think she's boiling over with a lot of things just right now -- teething, almost walking, developmental wheels turning.

*She napped for a good long time, huzzah! Woke up a happier, more social baby

Slow progress for the picture book as I can fit it in:

• finished carving "So they measured and mixed..." last night (at left)
• two small-but-good adjustments  based on very useful, recent feedback from. So grateful for the help.  Artists and schoolteachers: good people to know!

   A.)  Carved out the eyes in block (on right)  "His Eyes Shone in the Dark"
  B.) Redrew the outside text border of an    early page and transferred the design onto a new block block yesterday (photo to come).
Current tally: three fully carved blocks lined up, ready for the printing
press!

Current escapism:
Another late-to-the-party -- The Honorable Woman: grim, but so very, very good.