This morning, AJ turned his bed into a time machine.

He had just finished tearing off the sheets with glee � at my request; it�s laundry day � and had crawled behind the narrow gap between the bed and the wall, a gap that only appears when we are changing the sheets.

�Goodbye, Mommy! I�m going back in time!�

�Where are you going?�

�You mean when am I going.�

�You�re right. When are you going then?�

�I don�t know yet. I�ll be back later.�

There are definitely times when I wish I had a way-back machine. Think of what you could do. I could visit the dinosaurs to see if paleontologists are right in their depictions. Or drop in on the signing of the Magna Carta. I could hear Lincoln give the Gettysburg address or see Martin Luther King give his �I have a dream� speech in person.

I could also go back a couple of days and remember to write a conference proposal, so I wasn�t flailing around last minute as usual. Every year in mid-January, there is a big proposal deadline. It�s just late enough that every year I think I can do it after the holidays. And I�d be right � I could do it after the holidays�if I ever remembered about the deadline afterwards. I kind of wish I�d remember it in February, after the deadline has passed. Unfortunately, I always seem to remember 4-5 days ahead of time, enough time to do something but not enough time to do something good. I have a perfectly good proposal I could have used if they hadn�t changed the rules last year and made their proposals twice as long as any other conference. So instead I�m trying to pad it out. I�m have tempted just not to submit this year. I�ve got enough other things to do. But I also feel like that�s copping out.

But realistically, I wouldn�t be visiting conference proposal writing. I�d be revisiting AJ�s early months. I�d love to go back there � then � to look for signs of the AJ to come. He�s so tall these days � halfway up my ribcage � that I can hardly believe it.

It snowed last night, not as much as predicted, but enough. AJ was bouncing with excitement when he got up this morning. And then, while he was eating his breakfast, it began to snow again. He looked out the window and gasped with pleasure, �Oh, Mommy! It�s snowing!� And I remember bundling him up in his fuzzy blue bunting, the one that made him look like a starfish, his face screwing up at the touch of snowflakes on the delicate skin of his face as if to say, �What is this stuff and why are you letting it touch me?�

AJ wanted to make a snowman, but we couldn�t get the snow to stick together.

�I know! We can make melted snowmen!�

�You mean snowman heads on the ground?�

�No, just the faces right on the ground. It will look like they�ve melted.

So now there is a trio of melted snowmen lying outside Mr. Spy�s office window. One of them was apparently eating a candy apple when he met his demise. They are all wearing silly hats. And none of them appears to mind his disembodied state.

AJ didn�t have time to admire his work for long, though. He and Mr. Spy were off to his aunt�s house so that I may finish my proposal. But there are also groceries to buy and dinner to make and cats to sleep on my cold toes. And a nice cozy looking bed with clean sheets and a view of the snowy backyard. It�s amazing I get anything done at all.

[Yesterday's entry was made late in the day; click back if you missed it. And make sure to visit AJ's Clubhouse to see freshhell's terrific book review]

4 people said it like they meant it