Today, Annie is exactly twice as old as Paul.
Annie, on sparkling water: “Oh, it’s very spicy!”
(She also calls her red socks, spicy socks. I do not think it means what you think it means.)
Annie grabbed the collar of my shirt, looked down in, and asked me, “Can I live in there?”
Annie and I were looking at the birds on my dress at dinner. “Wanna count them??” she asked, and started, “Wo-on. Too-oo. Three-ee. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Four. Five. Six!”
My children are going to live in a world I can barely imagine.
Paul says “Annie” now. It sounds like “ah-NUH.” It’s adorable.
For breakfast Annie had milk, yogurt, and cheese. Girl likes her dairy.
My 1- and 2-year-olds are upstairs napping; I’m reading essays about parents taking their kids off to college, with a lump in my throat. The parking garage at work on Friday was full of families moving their freshmen into the dorms. I remember my own drive with my parents so vividly and realize it was half my life ago.
On the way home today, Annie declared, “The CARS have no PEOPLE. THERE’S NO PEOPLE.” She likes to make test statements about the world and accepts corrections gracefully. It’s not a bad way to learn. So I explained: the cars on the road DO have people in them because a person has to drive. As I was saying it, I was realizing that by the time she’s driving, this will probably be wrong.
My banana-girl was playing with her food this morning, assigning roles to her banana slices: Daddy, Mommy, Baby, and a nameless slice I assumed was Anna Banana. Then a fifth joined: Charly Banana, who stays with Baby while the rest “go to work.” She enacted their fond farewells and moved three slices back to her plate, which, she informed me, was “their work.”
Charly hasn’t stayed with Paul like that for 3 months, but Annie remembers.