A couple of weeks ago, Hunter woke up at about 1 in the morning, screaming. We're still not sure what was going on: he denied that his tummy hurt, he wasn't running a fever... we think it might have been a combination of nightmares and growing pains (he grew 4 inches in 6 months, which is a pretty hefty percentage of his total height.)

After 40 minutes of his inconsolable wailing, I said, "That's it: we're putting on clothes and going for a drive." We bundled up and headed out to the car. It was a moonless night, and the sky was black velvet overlayed with a shimmering blanket of diamonds. Hunter, in his father's arms, was enthralled, pointing at the sky and saying, "Stars! Stars!"

We drove around Baldwin Lake. We drove around Big Bear Lake. Hunter was quiet in the back seat, so at least he'd calmed down. After we'd been driving for close on an hour, Shawn and I were talking about this and that. Somewhere along the we, we started talking about movies we'd seen, then westerns, and I said, "Chicken!" (which is an in-joke between Shawn and myself that comes from the first time he saw The Sons Of Katie Elder with me.)

From the darkness of the back seat, the sleepy silence was broken by a little voice saying, "Chick-en? Chick-en?" It was adorable.

(He still didn't want to sleep, but at least he'd calmed down by the time we got home, which was worth every dollar of gas we'd burned on the outing.)

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On Memorial Day, Hunter decided to wake up at 4 in the morning. Shawn got him some water, and Hunter was willing to snuggle with him for a little bit, but eventually decided that it was a good time to play Climb Daddy Mountain. I'd been sleeping in the other room and dragged myself to give Shawn support, but dang -- it was way too early to be up when we didn't have to be anywhere. I climbed into bed with Shawn and snuggled into him. Hunter had gotten up and was playing with toys and trying to open the door to get to the rest of the house. He didn't seem to be hurting himself or anything else, so Shawn and I left him to his own devices and talked and dozed.

Suddenly, the overhead light blazed into excruciatingly bright life. Our little boy had, for the first time, managed to reach way up on his tippy toes and flip on the light switch all by himself.

"Light! On!" came the gleeful announcement.

Shawn and I burst into laughter. I guess Hunter had had enough of our lazing about.

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Last night, as I cleaned up Hunter after dinner, he was playing with something tiny on his tray.

"Rain. Drop." he said very clearly, examining it. He manuevered it onto his finger. "Yehyyo. Rain. Drop." He held it up for my inspection.

Sure enough, there on the tip of his finger was the germ from a kernel of corn, shaped like a perfect, yellow raindrop. "Raindrop," I agreed. "It's shaped like a yellow raindrop."

Then he fed it to me. "Mama. Yehyyo. Rain. Drop."

It was good, but not nearly as sweet as Hunter.