First biking mishap

My husband and I gave our son a bicycle -- a red Huffy, "Cars" model -- for his fifth birthday.

After the birthday party guests left, my husband and son stayed up late to put the bike together. They installed the handlebar and pedals, put the training wheels on and adjusted the seat to its lowest level. (My son, on tiptoes, can just touch the floor.) They checked the tires, deciding they need more air before he begins riding it.

They installed the bell, which my son excitedly rang then left this phone message for his uncle: "Guess what I got for my birthday." My brother phoned back to guess, "a new bell for your bicycle." He left a similar phone message for his grandma.

Next morning, my son was sitting contentedly on his new bike in the living room when he started to make it go. He rode into one of his birthday presents, a baking kit from an uncle, aunt and his younger twin cousins.

The can of pressurized icing exploded, spraying blue stickiness onto his new cowboy apron, cookie mixes, raisins and "spoonula." Fortunately, all of it was contained in the gift bag. The rider was not injured.

A whole hand

On the eve of his birthday my son exclaimed to his father, "Daddy, I'm not just four fingers anymore. I'm going to be a whole hand."

Neighborhood dog-napper

My husband took our son trick-or-treating at their uncle's home on Halloween evening.

The neighbor next door was dressed as Cruella De Vil, her two small dogs sporting shiny white coats with black spots.

"Mom, we saw the woman from 101 Dalmations," my son exclaimed when he arrived home. "Daddy took a picture."

Upon examining the photograph, I identified the woman and remarked to my husband that she's a former colleague of mine.

The next day, my son was recalling some of the highlights of Halloween night. "Hey Mom, you know that woman you used to work with," he said. Seeing my puzzled face, he added, "You know, the one who steals dogs."

To sanctuary

A sign hangs on a door in the basement of Chester Park United Methodist Church. "TO SANCTUARY" it reads in crisp blue letters on a background of white.

On election days, one of four election judge stations is set up directly across from this sign.

I really appreciate that the sign doesn't say, "TO THE SANCTUARY."

It's fun to to contemplate all of the possible "sanctuaries" that could be behind that door.

The beauty of being a stay-at-home Mom

My son and I sit on the living room floor, still clad in our pajamas.

Bright morning sunshine streams through our front window. A CD of piano music, written by a friend and colleague of my husband, plays quietly in the background.

We are learning to count money -- pennies, nickels and dimes.

Lists, lists, lists

My son is a great maker of lists.

It started in September, when he came home from preschool and announced he needed to practice his writing. Sometimes he asks me to spell out a bunch of words. Other times he copies words from a book or packaging labels.

For a while he would ask me to help him make an N or a U or a Z. Then he would ask me, "how do you make" one of those three troublesome letters. "Up, down, up," I would say to describe the N. As time passed he would ask the question, then pause and answer it himself. Now he no longer asks.

He makes lists of things we need from the grocery store, the things he wants to accomplish in a day, collections of objects that have something in common, the names of family members, his stuffed animals or characters in a book. Tucked in bed the other night, he asked me to get one of his lists so he could cross off the things he had done that day.

This morning he is making a list of each kind of Halloween candy he got while trick-or-treating last night.