... with something fun by one of the kids just hasn't happened yet because my scanner is still at the warehouse largely because we can't decide where we would set it up, once brought home.
So instead I will share a funny conversation with, whom else but Elsa, from a few days ago. Again - it involves the stairs. This time we were going down the stairs.
Me to Elsa as she blithely springs from step to step her little baby toes barely curling around the edge of the step before lifting off for the next one.
"Slow down!" I admonish her. "I don't want you to fall!"
"Ohhhtay" she responds and then rather than springing from step to step she began to grip the edge of the step with her toes like a monkey while grasping the railing. In this fashion she stretched her body as far down the railing as her body could physically reach and then let her toes relax so that her feet slumped to the next step where she repeated the exercise. I, in misery, watched this gymnastic feat holding my breath lest she fall.
Finally we reached the bottom step which she sprung off of lightly and I, still tense from watching this incredible feat, called after her in a (somewhat) teasing voice:
"You just live to make mummy worry don't you? I guess you think that's your job, eh?"
"Yup!" She answered me, her little red curls bouncing as joy and energy emanated from her little body as she danced into the dining room.
And it is my job, for now. And before I know it that job will be done - more or less. I will always have the job of praying for her. But all too soon the daily errand of watching closely behind her, scooping her up when she falls and wiping her tears when her feelings are hurt will be done. Oh sometimes she will call and her tears will flow over the phone, but for the most part she will be independent, standing on her own two feet and she won't really need me any more. So I think I will go find her now and see if she might like me to read her a story. Something I don't do enough. See you tomorrow for open line Saturday.
Friday, June 13, 2008
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1 comment:
Beautiful post -- My oldest daughter is 19 and I know exactly what you mean.
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