The kids and I went to the library today. When we left, I was lifting Rilla into her carseat and she started to fuss, pointing back toward the library and saying in her imperious way, "Nuh! Nuh!" She’s using lots of sign language these days (which utterly melts me), and she began making a sign I’d never seen her do before: L shapes with both hands, touching, banging together.
I thought maybe she was trying to sign run; Rose and Beanie had raced down the wheelchair ramp on their way to the car. To test my theory, I took Rilla out of the car and put her down on the ramp. Sure enough, she took off running—all the way up the ramp and straight to the library door.
Now I was really curious. She was clearly on a mission. I opened the door and followed her in, even though I was pretty sure this wasn’t going to end prettily: if she was wanting to go back in and play for a while, she was going to be disappointed, and 18-month-olds tend not to suffer disappointment quietly. But she seemed so intent upon her purpose and I was dying to know what she was thinking.
She made a beeline for the children’s section, straight to the back bookcase—and turned to me with arms raised, wanting to be picked up—and pointed triumphantly at Jane’s sunglasses sitting forgotten on the top shelf.
I was, and remain, amazed. No wonder she falls asleep at the table. She’s busy all day taking note of every little thing.
Calling Jane’s Mother
Day in the Life
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