Thank heaven for little boys.

Thanksgiving is nigh, and I am thankful that I don’t have to go anywhere. Don’t get me wrong, we had a fabulous time in Florida last week. So fabulous in fact that Paolo is still pissed off to be back home where he asks on a near-daily basis for the location of the nearest Arkansas beach. He is not impressed that we have mountains instead. I almost won him over with snow, but he pointed out that his snow angels suck and got depressed again.

The era of toilet humor is upon us. Want to know what’s funnier than calling for your mom and, when she looks, bending over and pointing your butt at her? Nothing. And it doesn’t lose comedic value with repetition either. Last night Paolo was perched on the potty working out a dinner that had disagreed with him, when he yelled out, “Help! My butt is throwing up.” I’m not sure if that’s funny or gross. It makes me gag and laugh at the same time.

Luca has begun talking, pointing, and generally getting a whole lot better at communicating. The brain-melting scream is still around, but it is used much less often. It’s unsettling in that we have no experience with a happy child. We’re used to Paolo, who is thrown into a funk by the sun rising, so we’re a little unsure what to do with Luca and find ourselves shaking our heads gravely a good deal. Do you remember the part in Addams Family Values when the mini-Gomez baby woke up with bright yellow curly hair and rosy cheeks, and the parents were deeply confused? That’s us. He laughs for no reason at all. He beckons us to chase him and play telephone with a smile so bright it doesn’t seem human. His favorite activity, hands down, is sitting in things. In short, Luca is delightful. I’m starting to think he’s adopted.