Skipping Town

This Saturday we went apple picking at an orchard about half an hour from our house. It was a beautiful fall day, and the girls were thrilled to see bins of gourds, a pumpkin patch, shelves of Indian corn, and other seasonal treasures. There were lots of farm animals to greet and watch as well. It was a lovely morning. On Sunday, we went to a birthday party where Ariel made an appearance. She put princess dresses on all the kids (pirate costumes for the boys) and painted their faces. Lucia hung back at first--but then she overcame her reluctance, even sitting next to Ariel and surreptitiously touching her sparkly mermaid outfit. They loved it, though Greta lost interest after a while and wandered into the playroom in her Snow White getup.

Dear Greta Banana, Two is just around the corner, and you're changing in ways that continue to surprise me. All along you've been brave and bold, outgoing and cheerful, always eager to greet strangers and run into the mix. Over the past couple of weeks, however, you've exhibited a new caution, even shyness. You and I are doing a Music Together class once a week while Lucia's in preschool, and when I signed you up I felt confident that you'd love it--you sing and dance constantly; any snippet of music compels you to bend and bounce. And yet last week, and this week, you cuddled in my lap during class, even hanging around my neck and burying your face in my shoulder. You seem unnerved by the whole thing--yet as soon as class is over, your usual self returns, and you wave and say "Bye!" to the teacher and other kids. I suspect this is partly your age--this new hesitation--and partly the fact that you've never done anything without Lucia. You are used ...

Dear Lulu, Almost-four is a funny time. Every day you seem to get more grown up, chattering away and getting wrapped up in whatever game you’ve imagined. You’re picking up funny phrases now, from me and Daddy and from TV shows. “Mama, here’s the deal,” you’re fond of saying, or, “But the point is…” Today you enjoyed yelling “What the heck?!” at the top of your lungs for no discernible reason. You also frequently sigh in exasperation when we’re trying to get you to do something and say condescendingly, “DADdy, I’m just doing my job. ” You are a total girly-girl. You love dresses, and dressing up, and wands and tiaras. You pick out your clothes on your own each day. Your all-time favorite activity right now is painting your nails, and Greta’s nails, with Disney Princess nail polishes. It washes off with soap and water, so often you’ll paint your nails five times a day. You started your second year of preschool this month, and so far you’re thriving. The class is large, but...

This is post number 1,000 of Skipping Town . That seems momentous, and I wish I had something momentous to write about to mark the milestone, but I do not. In lieu of extraordinariness, I’ll give you this conversation I had with Lucia yesterday, which is pretty representative of how things are right now in the Littell Land of a Four-Year-Old, minus a ridiculous amount of independence-seeking and power-struggling: [Dinner time for the girls.] Lucia: “Mommy, what are you having for dinner?” Me: “Daddy and I will eat later tonight. We’re having shrimp bisque.” “Shrimp BISQUE?” “It’s soup. Would you like to try some?” “NO. I don’t like shrimp. What IS shrimp?” “It’s a kind of fish. It’s pink.” “But where does it come from?” [accusing, suspicious tone] “The ocean.” “But it’s all SALTY.” “Well, when the shrimp come out of the water, they’re not salty anymore.” “But it’s all WET. The shrimp is all wet. We can’t eat it like THAT!” “When the ...

Preschool, year two: the three-year-old class (in which Lucia will quickly turn four). She picked out her favorite dress, was excited to go, and said "Bye, Mama!" with barely a look back. She painted a picture of Greta, which she excitedly showed me at pick-up time, and said her favorite part of her first day was the snack. What a little cutie.

We managed to squeeze in one final trip this summer—we spent last week in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, in a rented beach house with Andrew’s family. We were there to meet Andrew’s sister Katherine’s new baby, Thomas, as well as get in some beach time with the girls. The trip down was rocky. As Lucia will probably be glad to recount for the next ten years, she got sick five times on the two flights that took us from Newark to Daytona Beach—at least two of those times, she threw up on Andrew. (Greta was on my lap; we were spared.) It was terrible. It’s Dramamine for her from here on out. Lucia was so sick she didn’t even get to have the bag o’ fun I made for each girl, full of stickers and markers and stamps and notepads and Littlest Pet Shop sea creatures. Greta was silent the entire second flight, covering a Littlest Pet Shop shark with sparkly fish stickers. The girls adored the beach. A pile of beach toys from Andrew’s parents made things even better. Getting the girls rea...

So I went to Bread Loaf, and we all survived. From the moment I applied way back in March, the idea of actually going seemed far-fetched, even ludicrous; and it seemed that way even when I got accepted. But then it started seeming crazier not to jump at the chance, and in the end I did. It was the right decision. My ten days in Vermont reactivated parts of my brain that have been dormant for four years, possibly more. Instead of starting each day with spilled Cheerios and diaper-change chases, I had breakfast and then went to a lecture—one day Charles Baxter talking about request moments, another Robert Boswell discussing authorial custody; another day James Longenbach breaking down language into its most elemental forms. The days galloped along, with workshops and craft classes and countless readings, all of them instructional and inspiring. There was a visit to Robert Frost’s cabin. I walked in the woods by myself one afternoon, down to a creek, and laid on a rock, looking up at...