Transatlantic Dreamin'

Apologies for the last post, everyone. I wasn't in the best of moods. After a reassuring e-mail from my grandmother, whose wisdom in these vicissitudes of parenting cannot be doubted, and a lovely lighthearted visit from my father, all is well. Now, my retinas are bathed in sunshine this morn, topped with a snoozing baby in my lap, I couldn't be in a better mood.

This morning I'm looking at cruises. Transatlantic cruises to be exact. One of my pasttimes when all books are out of my reach and I'm stuck on the couch is too look up vacations that I'll never be able to afford. Not in the near future anyway. The idea of a caribbean cruise just doesn't appeal to me. I like the idea of taking a boat to get somewhere, which has become crazy and outmoded. A boat across the ocean takes approximately 14 days from what I understand, leaving from New York and arriving in my favourite of all the dead and sinking cities, Venice. After spending a week in Venice with my family, (drinking heady Italian wine along the canals, running lost, through the labyrinthine piazzas and alleyways, to find ourselves at yet another dead and watery finish to the street), we would return once again to North America by boat. On the return cruise, I would spend more time on the deck, staring out at the wide expanse of the Atlantic Ocean and put myself in the place of my relatives who all undoubtedly made that very trek. They would have smelled the same smells of the ocean, which I would guess smells quite different smack in the centre. Probably fresher and less like the wharfy smell that I associate with shore. Even my seasickness would be a testament to my pilgrimage. It would be all worth it to walk (or sail) in the footsteps of my ancestors.

Romanticism is both the folly and redemptive aspect of my character, I know.

I'm waiting for mail at the moment. Ender-boy has grown out of his baby bjorn carrier and I desperately needed a new one that I could carry him in when he's even a toddler. I've felt especially trapped in the house lately, due to the fact that taking a stroller on public transportation doesn't appeal to me, and carrying my baby feels so much more secure. I've ordered a baby hawk (in zebra print, of course) so that I may once again traipse around the city with my little papoose. I'll post pictures of me and Ender with it when it arrives, t-minus 10 days from now.

Also, Ender has begun to say 'mama' clear as a bell. Time it would seem, restless as it is, has no patience for the viscosity of experience that I so desire. He spat out the word as I was half asleep, and quickly as that it was done. Now he can speak, and the adorable muteness of babyhood is over.