My baby, pushing her baby.

This is a picture of my baby girl with a mustache. That is all.

I remember doing this when I was Jason's age, falling asleep in the middle of a party, under a table or in a corner, waking up only when it was time to go.

Actually, I remember doing that in college, too, but I guess that's a different story.

The day after my niece's wedding, there was a brunch at the lodge where we were staying, during which I mostly ate, or chatted with family, or kept an eye on my kids. At one point, though, I found myself standing out on the deck, looking out at the ocean and watching the waves ripple through the water on their way to the beach. Letting my eye rest on one spot and watching each swell pass by like the ocean taking a breath, it felt like every little hill in the surface was something coming into being. Something familiar but somehow alien, lonely and yet comforting. Something short-lived but eternal. Something mysterious.

I stood there, transfixed. And then I turned away and went back to the party.

I realize that I sound like a grumpy, old curmudgeon—and this is not entirely inaccurate—but when I was a kid, pumpkin patches were just farms where you could buy pumpkins, not the huge affairs with hay rides and pony rides and food vendors (and petting zoos, bouncy castles, haybale mazes, craft fairs, and so on, and so on) that I see these days. There was a time when the excess of it all did, in fact, make me grumpy. But you know what? These new-fangled pumpkin patches? They're pretty fun. And the kids love going.

Look at how un-curmudgeonly I'm being. I'm as surprised as you are. Go me.

The prospect of a pony ride was sufficient to distract Jason from both the availability of ice cream cones and my willingness to purchase them during our trip to the pumpkin patch this past weekend. Say one thing for this kid, he's got focus.

Mind you, as soon as the pony ride was done, it was time for ice cream.

(Who goes to a pumpkin patch in September, anyway? Us, apparently.)

The question is, which one is being impatient here?

While we were in Maine, the family and I decided to take a trip to the L. L. Bean store. We told Jason that he could have one thing. He picked this lobster. (And a pair of gloves, but that's another story.) He then told us that the lobster's name is Buster Tree. I don't know why. But it stuck.

The first day we got to Maine, Jason brought in a flower from the lawn outside the lodge where we were staying. I thought it was a dandelion, but my sister-in-law—who is a science and nature educator—told us that it was called a hawkbit. I always like learning new things. Jason liked bringing them in and showing them to us.

Apparently, being on vacation does not make Jason suddenly start remembering not to leave things in the middle of the floor. I am as shocked as you are.