Wednesday, January 30

evening, and the rain tucks us in

a boy and his dog



These two are crazy affectionate with each other. (It's tough to photograph them in polaroid. Cedar is always moving.)


This morning Tim and Cedar and I went to our favorite local breakfast place. It's filled with older couples and chatting pairs of girlfriends and outdoorsy men in plaid flannels and large family groups. I order what I always order: 1 pancake (maple syrup), eggs (scrambled), toast (rye), bacon. It's heavenly. Tim tries something new most times. We've been going there since May when we moved here; when I was still pregnant with Cedar. He's known to the owner and the waitress and always draws lots of attention from the locals. Today for the first time he sat in the wooden high chair they have, wedged secure with our fleece and wool jackets, and solemnly inspected the surrounding diners while chewing on my purse strap.


Tim and I could barely even talk. Cedar was such a little man. We just looked at him, so poised and imperturbable and beautiful, and it was enough.


We are wild about him.


I took him on a hike afterwards, just he and I. We walked along the woods trail into the game lands and after a while it began to rain. He seemed unfazed and babbled in his multisyllabic almost-words way from the carrier on my back. When we got home only daddy could get him to nap. The rain fell softly and swept away the fog, and we opened the house doors to let the balmy freshness in.




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