This morning Gabriel woke me up by crawling into our bed with his musical tractor. He pressed the button that plays "old mcdonald" and danced a jig on my bladder.
Kiff has invented this new game with G called "dolls" where we lie in bed with our arms out and eyes staring straight ahead, and he scrambles up on you and puts his face really close to yours and says "Hi!" and then laughs until you can't resist, and start laughing too.
It is a fun game, but I still think that the frozen "doll" parents image going to give him some of his first vivid nightmares.
I took G to day 3 of the new daycare and stayed a few minutes with him and the other toddlers, sitting on the tiny chairs at the table, eating whole grain flake cereal and playing with trucks. I love the look that toddlers give you when you walk into the daycare: "what kind of adult are you? A mommy or a teacher?"
As I turned to leave, G squinted his eyes accusingly and opened his mouth into a wordless howl. Dropkick my heart, why don't you? I still feel sick about it.
I wish we didn't have to go to school or work in the summer. Like the old days, when the summers were long and unstructured and sunbaked, and when you came back to school, some plain person would have blossomed into a total babe, someone else would have grown a foot taller, and everyone felt altered, somehow.
It still guts me that we don't get summers off. How else are we supposed to have our major transformations?
