Before I put Nora to bed at night, we read books and say bedtime prayer. She curls together her little fingers and I ask her who she wants to pray for, and typically "GG," "Papa," and "LeoLeo" make the list, among a few others which change by the day and occasionally a "woof woof" or "ar ar ar," - apparently the area dogs and seals are in need of our prayers. (LeoLeo is her new 3.5 week old friend, and he's really only one Leo, but she prefers him doubly.) She then says "aaaaaaaaaahh-mah!" (Amen) and smiles up at me, knowing that she can coerce me into a few more minutes of snuggling and maybe another story if she's really good. It is so darn sweet that I often sit there and wonder how I could ever even begin to lose my patience during the day.
At 21 months (I don't know whether to say one and a half, or almost two...21 months will have to suffice), energy is the name of the game. And she has more than I do. Sometimes it seems that everything she says ends with a exclamation point.
Do you see that school bus? BUS!
What do you want for dinner? CHEESE!
What are you building? HOUSE!
She nods her head and says "mm-hmm, mo" (more) when she wants more snacks, books, blocks, busses, worms in the dirt, trains, or garbage trucks.
When we arrive home, she inquires who is there - ZayZay (Zadie) is always waiting for us, and sometimes Dada if we're lucky. She lists everyone she can think of, and I tell her they're not here but we'll see them soon. "Home," she says, meaning that they're at home.
Last night while I was making dinner, it went something like this: I asked her if she wanted to do puzzles, she dumped them on the floor and then came to get me. "Mama! Mama! Help help help" she asked, as she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the playroom. "Piece!" she exclaimed of the pieces strewn across the floor. I sat down and helped her get started with a puzzle, then snuck away to attempt dinner again. Two minutes later she came in. "Help help help!" This time she meant that she wanted to help me in the kitchen. I gave her a whisk and she banged it against every surface she could find, including the dog. She found an apple in an not-yet-unpacked grocery sack and started eating it. I sat her at the table and let her nibble away, safely out of the dog's sneaky reach. After a few minutes, she got bored and started taunting Zadie with the apple, then dropped it on the ground. I swoop in and grab it before Zadie swallows it whole (she's a weird dog) and send Nora into the playroom again to find her babies and their "house." She returns: "help help help!" She wants me to play. I play for a minute and then give her a Lego set to hold her attention so I can finish dinner. She wants "help help help" building her "house."
I tell her she needs a sibling, but one that sleeps all night, never gets sick, and helps with chores. Unfortunately this is not the kind that comes from me.
Eventually dinner gets made and I open the fridge to get the milk. We have our last name in a decorative iron sign sitting on top of the refrigerator. It's a cool piece, but not something I want falling on my head. It has been sitting nicely in this place for at least a year, but now it falls on me, somehow also knocking the brand new blueberries out of the fridge in the process. I stand, a little dazed, while Nora and Zadie clamber on the floor to eat as many blueberries as possible. Once I realize what's happening, I attempt to get the blueberries that have spilled in the less-than-clean areas of the bottom of the fridge. I put the ones that can be salvaged (hey...blueberries are both expensive and washable...) into a bowl and move on.
I chase her through bath and books and bed.
But then she folds those little hands and prays, and it all makes sense. While she prays for the people she loves and knows best, I pray a silent little prayer of my own. She is so good. She is so kind. She is so smart. Help us to help her stay that way.
Amen. Amen. Alleluia. Amen.
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