What Amy does

climbs in and out of her rocking chair, box of blocks, basket of toys, someone’s lap.
closes doors and then gets upset that they’re closed.
stacks blocks in lopsided towers.
“reads” books.
feeds herself and me with a play spoon.
points to things, wanting their names, sometimes repeating the names.
takes a loaded spoon, puts it in her mouth, removes it, hands it back, usually still loaded.
lets us brush her teeth.
holds her two-handled sippy.
loves water poured over her head in the bath.
licks everything, even the water in the bath.
likes to be chased.
claps her hands.
laughs and chatters and grumble-murmur-whimpers and cries.
says mama and dada and bottle and kitty and…
eats almost anything but lets us know which she wants right now.
understands no, sometimes obeys, sometimes tests, sometimes complains.
asks for hugs.
rides her rocking horse.
sleeps.

Two steps, kitty brush, I miss men, toilet paper, meat, and Jen

Sometimes I am trying to remember a bunch of unrelated things at a time when I can’t write them down, and it helps to make a silly chant or rhyme with them.

Two steps:

Last night Amy was standing by Mark’s feet as he sat on the floor, legs extended. She took one or two steps, unsupported, into his arms.

Kitty brush:

Night before last, I had Amy and the kitty in my lap. Amy saw the kitty brush on the end table and pointed to it. I gave it to her. She turned it around and around and touched the bristles, then brushed the kitty with it. How cute!

I miss men:

I love the playgroups and have been enjoying some one on one times with a couple of the women. But I miss being in a mixed small group and hanging out with other couples. I recognize but hardly know the ladies’ husbands.

Toilet paper:

Just a reminder to put some more in the bathroom.

Meat:

A reminder to put something in the fridge to thaw for dinner tonight. It’ll just be me and Amy, as Mark has a swim meet to score.

Jen:

A reminder to let Jen know their package for Amy arrived. How sweet!

Yesterday we spent a good chunk of the day at Amy G’s house. We went for a walk to the park where the kids played a while, then had a bit of lunch while Amy napped, then chatted a bit more while Ryan napped. I’m so grateful to already have some comfortable hanging out friends here.

In the afternoon, instead of getting online, I washed diapers and swept the basement and made the bed and read some of Luke. I am reading Luke over and over this semester, and may continue next semester, too. Sometimes it is really puzzling, some of the things Jesus says. Such simple words, but hard to figure out what exactly he’s getting at.

Today we were supposed to have a visit from Erika and her girls, but they all have colds. I had also planned to go out and get some birthday wrapping paper and maybe some more sippy cups and go to the post office (I haven’t been in two weeks or so), but it’s just about freezing… we’ll see what the afternoon is like.

Matched pair

In our garage are a lovely matched pair of white Corollas.

Not quite. They’re different years, and different styles, and inside one is grey and one is black. But how funny that we bring home not just another Corolla, but another white one.

Mark hit a deer with the 95 Ford Escort last week — no one was hurt (even the deer apparently got away) and the car still ran, but it was banged up bad enough that we figured it was time to replace it.

Off to Indianapolis we went (after the swim meet Mark had to score), first to CarMax to see the Elantra we’d found online, which seemed like a decent car and has good reviews, and then to Butler Toyota where we’d gotten the first Corolla. Another Corolla just seemed like a better bet, so there it is.

We enjoyed a visit with the Prochaskas and returned home last night.

Amy was displeased when she woke up around 5:15 and found she was still in the car and no bottle in sight. I was glad I had my earplugs in my purse. I reminded myself that a) I shouldn’t assume I know why she’s upset (I’d thought it was the blanket which, yes, she’d thrown out of the car seat, but giving it back didn’t console her; it was Mark that guessed about the bottle) and b) it is possible for someone to express distress without it being a personal reproach or demand.

I think we all slept well last night.

How long?

how long
until
you understand
that what you throw away
doesn’t come back?

what lies behind
this need
to relinquish
your most beloved
blanket
to the floor

do you have some
grieving to do
and you need
a trigger?

are you
acting out
a sense of loss
or abandonment?

or

is it just
an experiment
like Newton
to discover
gravity?

how much
grief
gravity
causes
both of us