Her joy. Just watching her. Her joy is just so big. Her heart is just so big. When I told her Gramma Phylly was coming for her birthday next weekend, she jumped up and down: "Gramma Phylly! I LOVE Gramma Phylly! And when I see her I am going to thank her for the table!" (she sent an early birthday present). "And right now I am going to give Zuki a nice big hug and thank him for all of the love that he gives me!" The cat. Omg.
My exhaustion. Exasperation. That I want to sew a few birds for a craft fair and every day kid myself that I will carve the time out this evening. Turned into next evening. Turned into the next. And write? I'll get up early tomorrow. (snooze button) Or maybe the next day. (but it's so cold) Or maybe the next (but my bed is so damn cozy). So I'll stay up late (yawn). Maybe tomorrow I'll stay up late (maybe I'll just read in bed). Maybe the next night (I haven't played words with friends in days).
She putters past me, "maybe you be the teacher and rub my back, is that okay daddy?" laying on the rug. "I can be a big girl and you can be a teacher."
"Alright!" My husband says. "I want everyone to go brush their teeth in the bathroom!" Ha. He knows how to play this game.
Lately I look at her face and marvel; it's changed again. I listen to her babble; it's more sophisticated, albeit still very much childish. What is happening? How can all this time be passing without my notice? WIthout grabbing some of it's pieces and recording them? What were all those funny things she said yesterday? Last week? Last month, or was that over the summer?
And though I'm sure I will keep NOT writing all the things down I think I will remember and then berating myself for not writing down, anything, in months and wondering where all that time has gone, there are some good signs that I am getting things right in this parenting gig. Cassidy expresses gratitude and appreciation in ways that swell my heart. She gets my sense of humor and I get hers, and we laugh and laugh and I get that she gets it, and she gets that she gets it. And she sings Bob Marley songs, not to mention her own songs, made up in the back seat of the car, about what she sees or thinks or what happened yesterday.
I could go on and on. I want to go on and on. But Chris needs to fill the outdoor wood furnace to keep us warm, and I need to get her in bed. And then I'll want to go to bed. And we'll do it all over again tomorrow.
