on tuesday, i took atlas for a walk at 7am because i needed to leave earlier than usual. he walked a few yards and went to the bathroom.

i continued on because, yay! a morning walk with my puppy!

atlas took a few steps. then, he stopped and gave me a look. the look said, "it is cold and dark and there is a still-warm bed calling my name. i already did what you wanted. why do you torment me so?"

once upon a time, in a land far far away, on a very ordinary day, much like this one, a baby was born.

when the midwife held up the baby, the mother gasped, because she saw a silver and turquoise wand grasped tightly between the fingers of the baby's right hand.

the wand was a symbol of wizardry. it meant that the baby was a wizard, with a wizard's powers.

i don't know what wizardry is like in your world, but in this world, it was full of goodness. it imbued the wizard with the power of beauty and magic and possibility and wonder and play – and the ability to make the heart's fondest wishes come true. sometimes they came true in likely ways, sometimes they came true in unlikely ways, but they always came true.

there was a time when all the babies in that land were born with wands between their fingers – the colors varied but there was always a wand – but one day, it just stopped, and no one ever knew why.

(i've read books and books about their history and i have my suspicions. a ship landed at their port for refueling and the people on the ship laughed at the people of the land with their wands. "wands and play are for children," they said, as they laughed and pointed and took pictures to show their friends and family. "you're too old to still be playing." it was shortly after that that some of the people began to forget about their wands, and shortly after that that the first baby was born without a wand between its fingers.)

without their wands, life was dreary indeed. slowly, the people forgot about the power of beauty and magic and possibility and wonder and play. they forgot about their power to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. they even forgot that there was such a thing as extraordinary at all.

and then, on that perfectly ordinary day, the baby with the silver and turquoise wand was born, and a spark was lit in everyone's heart.

(for in truth, the wand had nothing to do with their powers; it was just a reminder that they existed.)

the end.

{my attempt to capture 52 photos that represent trust – my word for 2011}.

i trust you'll forgive me if i indulge in one last baby savannah photo, even if it was taken last week.

(if you could see me right now, you'd see me chuckling at how i sneakily snuck the word trust in there.)

i left my beeswax votives burning while i ran upstairs to get the vacuum the other day.

on the way, i got distracted by the internet. ("on the way" being a stretch, of course, since the vacuum is in the room at the top of the stairs and my computer is neither in that room nor on the stairs.)

such a pretty pretty outcome, but such a bad bad idea. i can see all the ways in which this could have gone wrong.

i am leaving it there for a while, exactly as it is, as a reminder that candles should not be left unattended. (ok, also because i think it's pretty, but definitely as a reminder.)

i always put atlas’ bed on the rebounder while i vacuum the downstairs. i paused my vacuuming efforts yesterday to take a quick photo in the kitchen. while i was doing so, i heard a thump, and came out of the kitchen to see what was going on. this is the sight that greeted me.

i am pretty sure there is a rule that says no dogs on the rebounder. apparently that rule is rendered null and void if the dog’s bed is on the rebounder.

p.s. apparently atlas fell in love with a little white pug at the doggy ranch. they’re in the photo on the left, six rows down, surveying their doggy ranch-dom. don’t they look cute?

i wander around singing this line every october. i know it's actually part of a christmas song – well, if you replace month with time – but it feels so much more true to me right now. i do so love october.

i never thought of myself as a baby person.

not that i dislike them, just that i don't need to see or cuddle or visit them even if they are around. i have seven siblings and when i was growing up, if i had a choice between baby and chores, i always picked chores; my sister amy picked the baby. if i care about you, i care about your baby because it is something you care about, not necessarily for its own sake.

so, while it is true that i thought it would be great fun to be an aunt, and i did want to visit my sister and see my niece, i really thought the fun of being an aunt would begin once the baby was older.

imagine my surprise to discover that when the baby is baby savannah, i adore babies! oh my goodness. i love that little girl so much i can hardly stand it. i sniffled most of the way home because i was so sad that i had to leave her. (i spent the time when i wasn't sniffling thinking of ways that i can visit. often.)

even more surprising (to me), i am exceptionally good with babies. i am rather like a baby whisperer. at least i am with baby savannah.

also, i am a fount of fantastical stories, though this was not a surprise. among a million other stories, savannah heard the story of the invention of organization (a woman named betty organization who took everything in her house and put it in boxes and labeled them and then her friend myrtle saw it and asked her to do the same thing in her house and then other people saw it and asked for it and then myrtle told her she should name this thing she did and so she used her own name and named it organization) and the story of her ancestor queen savannah (queen savannah rode her pony named mustard around the island of molasses every morning and decreed that all the little girls on the island would be princesses and people came from all over the world to see the herd of princesses on ponies following queen savannah and mustard around the island and they even ended up as a feature article in national geographic next to an article about the mologai tribe who wore bracelets around their neck to make them longer). i am going to record stories for her so she can listen to them even when i am not there in person.

so yes, i am home, and i am really missing my little savannah. being her auntie is just about the best thing ever.

{my attempt to capture 52 photos that represent trust – my word for 2011}.

be still my heart.

“I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.”

– from William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream

p.s. in case you missed monday’s post, there’s a celebration going on through saturday!

"there are people who do this sort of thing, you know. they're called models. maybe you need to hire one.

i can hear you thinking that you don't want a picture of a model; you want a picture of me. you don't need a picture of me. you can just look at me. you can look at me 24/7 if you want, and yet you actually choose to leave me behind sometimes. someone who leaves the house without me definitely doesn't need a picture of me.

i can also hear you thinking that this only ever takes a minute. a minute is 60 whole seconds of my life that i'll never get back. there are things to be sniffed, lady. the outdoors is not meant to sit still in."

(a very disgruntled elizabeth says: "i left out the photo where i asked him to stay and instead he moved and peed on the pretty ivy.")

p.s. in case you missed monday's post, there's a celebration going on through saturday!