Peter's Worm

This reminds me of one of my high school photography class pieces of work...too clever by half. But still, that is a happy-looking worm.

Hearts, Bottles, and Dogs

Peter held the bottle by himself for the first time. I'm so thankful...now I can make phone calls and write blog entries while he feeds himself.

Or maybe I'll have more time to spend with the 3-legged dog.?I dunno...maybe this was enough time with the dog.

Notice the hair...

as the General in The In-Laws might say.

After washing, it stays in tight curls.

After a while not washing, it gets straigther.
Take a close look at his eyes, by the way. Pretending he's asleep, and doing a bad job of it if I do say so....More to the point, he's deceiving us already.

Debuting at the Mandolin Cafe

Peter gets another chance to practice the habits and appreciate the joys of good fellowship...this time with the breakfast club Sandy is in.
That's Mary Fischer holding Peter, and Karen Bream across the table.

The Tongue Series

Peter has taken to sticking his tongue out for extended stretches (of both time and anatomy)...







I told him to enjoy while he can...people don't find this behavior adorable for too terribly long.

Various (mostly) Snowy Things

The first time in that rolling chair thing...lots to look at.


Everybody taking Sandy breakfast in bed on a snowy morning.

Taking a walk on the same snowy morning.

We weren't the only ones out walking.

And still later, snowman building. Hope and Miranda made Bob.

Jackson made Steve.

Peter's Room

Here is one corner of Peter's room. That's a bookshelf with doors, covered with a variety of the stuffed animals he's already collected.

I don't know why, I just like the look of all these characters sitting there, almost like they're waiting for Peter--waiting for him to get old enough to notice them, old enough to care about them, old enough to pay them the kind of attention that creates their very meaning and worth.

(I know the picture's a bit blurry, but I really prefer no flash.)

I hope this remains a picture of his room, too--a room of his heart. My heart, also.

I know that none of us needs reminding that very little turns out the way we think it will, and I know some day--when I'm exhausted, or he's fed up with me-- I will look at this picture and remember what we had hoped would be. And somehow, I don't really know how, it will be a reassuring inspiration.