Addie's questioning--which is incessant, in typicaly four-year-old fashion--falls along these lines, lately:
1. Is infinity really a number?
2. Do you want to play pony princess fairy unicorn, and I'll be the mommy pony princess fairy unicorn, and you can be the baby pony princess fairy unicorn, and you have to do everything I say?
3. Why did you say mailman, mommy? It could be a woman! You should say mail "person," right?
4. (In every room we enter, ever): Is that the smoke detector, mommy? Or is that the fire alarm? Is it going to go off while we're in here? What will we do if it goes off? Does the smoke make the fire alarm go off, or does the fire make the smoke alarm go off? How do I make it make the sound? I don't want it to make the sound!
You get the point. She is this remarkable mish-mash of sage and naif, roaming through the world with fresh eyes and new preconceptions, and you never know which you'll get. Sometimes I forget how little she is, and then I'll call home, and she'll answer the phone, and I hear her sweet little baby voice still, with the lisp, and her tendency to say "or" as "bor." She's slipping through my fingers, that one, no matter how tight I hold on.
Florida was amazing, by the way. I was baptized in the gulf, it's bright blue waters warm, waves bobbing me up and down and washing away every last bit of self-pity, angst, and stress left in me. I cried into its waters and laughed after at how fast the past year rolled off my skin. I spent 48 hours with women who were totally different from one another, who had experienced immense and various heartbreaks, and who still loved each other unconditionally. There was nothing catty or manipulative that I could see, and that was also a cause for healing and celebration, to be around people who were not trying to change one another or guess what one would do next.
As promised, I returned home able to see my husband and children again, to enjoy them, and to laugh. There is no better gift. THANK you to everyone who made it happen (you know who you are).
1. Is infinity really a number?
2. Do you want to play pony princess fairy unicorn, and I'll be the mommy pony princess fairy unicorn, and you can be the baby pony princess fairy unicorn, and you have to do everything I say?
3. Why did you say mailman, mommy? It could be a woman! You should say mail "person," right?
4. (In every room we enter, ever): Is that the smoke detector, mommy? Or is that the fire alarm? Is it going to go off while we're in here? What will we do if it goes off? Does the smoke make the fire alarm go off, or does the fire make the smoke alarm go off? How do I make it make the sound? I don't want it to make the sound!
You get the point. She is this remarkable mish-mash of sage and naif, roaming through the world with fresh eyes and new preconceptions, and you never know which you'll get. Sometimes I forget how little she is, and then I'll call home, and she'll answer the phone, and I hear her sweet little baby voice still, with the lisp, and her tendency to say "or" as "bor." She's slipping through my fingers, that one, no matter how tight I hold on.
Florida was amazing, by the way. I was baptized in the gulf, it's bright blue waters warm, waves bobbing me up and down and washing away every last bit of self-pity, angst, and stress left in me. I cried into its waters and laughed after at how fast the past year rolled off my skin. I spent 48 hours with women who were totally different from one another, who had experienced immense and various heartbreaks, and who still loved each other unconditionally. There was nothing catty or manipulative that I could see, and that was also a cause for healing and celebration, to be around people who were not trying to change one another or guess what one would do next.
As promised, I returned home able to see my husband and children again, to enjoy them, and to laugh. There is no better gift. THANK you to everyone who made it happen (you know who you are).
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