We had a very chocolatey Easter around these parts. Last Easter, he was too young to understand much of anything that was going on, other than the fact that Grandma and Grandpa Richmond were visiting and that he got a stuffed chick that was good for about thirty seconds of play before being discarded.

This year? Well, there was egg dying:

       

   

And then there was the Easter basket itself:

       

Incidentally, that sippy cup in the basket is a Caillou cup (and, by the way, he's now going nuts behind me, seeing that page having appeared on my computer screen). Caillou is Sam's newest favorite obsession; he found the cup all by himself in the store and began chanting, "Cai! Cai! Cai!" over and over as he examined it. He's pleased as punch to have the cup, and he's been drinking thirstily all day long from it.

The train, of course, is the brightest star of the day. That was to be expected.

Hopefully, next year he'll be verbal enough to understand at least a little of why we're actually celebrating. Eric tried to talk to him about it this morning, until I reminded him that Sam doesn't even know about death yet, let alone resurrection. At this point, it's all something for the future. The lessons are for the grownups; the chocolate is for the baby. He doesn't seem to notice that he's missing anything yet.

He does grow more verbal by the minute, though. A month or so ago, I tried to count how many words I thought he had; I figured it to be about forty or so. Since then, he's gained by leaps and bounds, and every day he comes out with more. This afternoon, he echoed Eric in yelling "Good catch!" when they were playing with a balloon. He says, "Bye-bye; home!" when he's tired of being out in public. A few days ago, my friend Alysia swears she heard him say, "Let's go play Bo-bo!" to her son, right before he started the boys' usual odd routine of running in circles and yelling, "Bo! Bo! Bo!"

With his new verbal developments comes the inevitable problem of the new necessity of parental censorship. The other day, Sam caught me at a bad moment and was quick to parrot the less-than-pristine word that came from my mouth. Whoops. I think I've heard him say it a few times since then, but I can't be sure; with his baby lisp, it sounds an awful lot like his words for "shoes" and "chair."

In other news, we've begun the search for a house.

I have mixed feelings about this, though they're mostly positive. I can't wait to stop renting. I hate tossing money into a proverbial hole every month, with nothing to show for it, and I want a place we can call our own. I want a yard in which Sam can play, one around which I can put a fence to keep him safe for when he wants to run. I want to be able to paint a room if I so desire. I want to feel grounded and less "transient." I want more space - perhaps a garage, or a basement. A house can do all of this for me.

On the other hand, I am a little sad that this signifies a general sign that we're giving up, for the moment, on the idea of moving back home. Mom's sad, too, though she's hiding it well. I tried to joke it off, saying that Murphy's Law meant that the moment we found a house, we'd find the perfect job back home. Still, it's a bittersweet moment, and painful.

Anyway, we're looking at homes, and we're pretty excited about it. Last week, we met with a loan originator who preapproved us for a mortgage loan; in our previous forays into the world of realty, we never made it to this point, so I'm feeling a bit giddy. Hmmm, three bedrooms, at least a crawl foundation, a nice-sized yard, keep us out of the slums: these are the thoughts running through my head whenever I peruse the papers these days.

The idea of moving with a baby doesn't appeal to me, that's for certain. But the idea of staying here with a growing boy appeals even less. We're looking at a trike or a small bicycle for his birthday this summer (he fell in love with a little bike a few weeks ago), and at this point, we'd have nowhere to put one if we got one.

Hey, anybody want a hat? (Just in case you wondered where I've been or what I've been doing lately that's kept me from updating.)