Paper

My son and I made Valentine's Day cards for his teachers and classmates yesterday afternoon. We decorated several large sheets of paper with paints and glitter glue, which were cut up to make the individual cards. (Much as I enjoyed doing this, it was motivated partly by necessity — why has it been so difficult to find a box of simple Valentine's Day cards this year?)

My son has come to appreciate the endless possibilities of a blank piece of paper as much as I do. He has a standing invitation to use the Mr. Sketch markers in my office closet and the paper in the Laser Printer (I just wish he'd remember to close the tray when he's done) and he often draws elaborate diagrams of things he has built, or only imagined.

I didn't have glitter glue when I was growing up — I think part of my enthusiasm is in making up for that lost time. It takes forever and a day to dry — particularly when used in large glops, as my son prefers to do — but I like the texture it adds. (We put the sheets of paper in a warm oven to nudge the drying process along.) The package I bought yesterday even had glue that was pearlescent, which I don't think I've ever seen before.

I want to paint again. I've been meaning to get back to that, I just haven't been able to find the time.

I'm wondering — do they make glitter glue in an acrylic paint?

Time Travel

My son built his very own time machine this morning. He travelled back in time, to see the dinosaurs; then he went forward to a time when he might die, to see what that was like. (Not to worry — he's curious about such things right now. It's just a phase.) In the future, he found a skull — which was, I've been told, mine.

They say travel broadens the mind.

Kindle

A new version of Amazon.com's Kindle (the company likes to refer to it as a "Wireless Reading Device") is expected to be introduced on Monday. Have you ever seen one of these? They're a bit smaller than a hardcover book, though a good deal more thin, with a display about the size of your hand.

I tend to be, I will admit, what is often referred to as an "early adopter," someone eager to embrace just about any new technology. In my case, however, that's just about anything except electronic books. I read a great deal of material on my iPhone (before that, when I travelled a long commute by train, I relied on my Newton MessagePad), but it's inevitably short form — blog posts, newspaper and magazine articles, that sort of thing. I've never been the least bit interested in reading books in any form but, well, a book.

As much as I love to read, I love books — the physical embodiment of the book, and what it represents. And I like to see my shelves labor under the weight of books, both read and unread. I like to go to the bookstore, to wander and browse, pick up and leaf through the books I might want to buy. Even more than that, I adore old books. If it were possible, I'd have every book I bought printed on somewhat aged, slightly-yellowed paper, bound in cloth that carried the faint odor of thirty or forty years on a shelf.

I understand how such a device could prove very useful, believe me, I do — but in this instance, I think I shall continue to quietly ignore common sense.

Delirium

I was lying on a flat surface, balanced on top of a sphere. If I remained calm, I could adjust my position, just slightly, to stay comfortable — but if I moved too far in any one direction, I would cause myself to topple over.

Nausea-induced delirium and parenting are not a good combination.

Pockets

It was an especially fine night for dreaming. I'm not sure why (though it might have had something to do with the raw cookie dough I had eaten), but if I closed my eyes for just a moment I would drift away, even without falling asleep. I remember I was looking through some old clothes I no longer wear, finding reminders of experiences I'd never had in the pockets, though they seemed so familiar.

Home Sick

My six-year-old is home sick from school today — not having the sniffles and feeling achy sort of sick, but having a stomach ache and throwing up every hour or so sick, which is miserable and unpleasant. It's most likely a virus, and the effects shouldn't last too long, but he's been left so exhausted he'll be home tomorrow, as well.

It's days like this I'm thankful to have had the time to care for with him as he grows up — I know it won't last forever, but nothing and no one can ever take it away from me.

Prognostication

I don't put a great deal of stock in Groundhog Day (though the groundhog may indeed be a wise and sensible animal), but I'm hoping that the remaining six weeks of winter brings at least one more substantial snowfall. Or better yet, more than one.

(I probably ought to replace the canvas shoes I'm still wearing, though — my traditional winter shoes have inexplicably disappeared.)