It won’t be long now until we’re running around giddy with short sleeves. The snow has melted. Mud season is upon us. Goodbye, snow. Goodbye, winter! Good riddance.
As soon as the mud is gone we can haul our new Wagen here. Then the Franken-building can begin. Oo la la. I still get all drooly at the thought of not having to go outside to get to the kitchen, next winter. And secretly, I have been coveting wood stoves. For cooking and for heating water. (If you’d like an eyeful, head over to my Pinterest board “our next tiny house: kitchen inspiration”.) Kitchen porno.
In twelve days Baby Pickles will turn one. Does it mean I should start calling her Toddler Pickles? That doesn’t have a very nice ring to it, so I suppose just Pickles will have to do. When I was pregnant I dreamt that she was born a raccoon, and she has now entered a raccoon stage—the mischievous look, getting into everything, being chased out of the garbage can with a hardened tortellini teetering in front of her mouth.
She loves playing with cards and putting caps onto bottles. She gets angry when I take my cell phone away, but she also gets over it quickly. She stands and siddles along the furniture—has even taken two (separate) steps on her own—but is not walking yet. She eats everything with abandon—except for mustard and lettuce. She signs milk (post on baby sign language coming soon) like a boss, but means milk, water, nursing, or food when she does it. We can’t be sure, but she may have said mama, papa, and cat. She loves cats and books and waving to the Beard and I from the window.
A Wagenplatz is going to be an awesome place for her to grow up.