Rare

Olivia is kindly becoming more predictable in schedule, and unexpected in personality.
Today we hear that she and her friend Noah are cooperating in the naughty behavior of attempting to sneak out of their room at school - Noah can reach the handle so he turns the crank and she pushes on the door. But she's taking longer naps at home and school and is very rarely up during the night, finds dinner to her liking when we get home and can eat with Mom and I at the table even if she is mostly finished. Small things that make our evening move comfortably. She has taken on the task of feeding Henry in the evening, and accepts most other distracting tasks willingly and with curiosity. I admire my daughter, for I'm fairly certain I could not have been this confident or happy or easy. I miss her very much during the day, and can't really remember what I did with my evenings.
I'm trying to build her a small table, for eating and coloring, with wood left from her changing table. The project reminds me that the work of improving and editing writing is a much different thing than creating and modifying something made of cellulose, held together with screws and hinges, but the task seems more appropriate for her and for my time. Even more than writing this. But maybe both will be useful to her someday?
This may also just be thoughts to preface more great pictures taken by her mother.

Alacrity

From Tennesee Williams' "My Little One":

My little one whose tongue is dumb,
whose fingers cannot hold to things,
who is so mercilessly young,
(s)he leaps upon the instant things,


In her case, yogurt.

Serial, Cereal

What if growth isn't just diet or proficiency or knowledge or fitness or skill, or replace all those ors with ands? And what if it is also the composite of the time you spend doing them, and getting really good at spending time doing them? Like sitting on your grandparents' lap.
Olivia is seen here growing into the laps of the Grandparents Vande Berg. Getting good at spending time doing it.

Job Satisfaction

Olivia has taken on a role for herself in the house. We hadn't previously realized how important it is to rotate your drink coasters, but we certainly appreciate the dedication that she demonstrates in the task.

I'm still a little unsure whether I should be concerned about this, but right now I'm deciding that she seems to enjoy it, is easily distracted from it, and it doesn't seem to bring anxiety for he while she's doing it or if she doesn't do it on any given evening....

So I guess I'm documenting it to hear your thoughts, and maybe to embarass her when she's a little older?

Here's a picture from the same day, in case you have a slower connection and can't download the movie.

And another photo of another interesting habit: leaning backwards on the couch.

What is Love?

What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty;
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

The road less traveled

This was last weekend: her first trip to Hickory Hill Park.
Little Girl in a Big Woods; Ambulatory.
She doesn't have the range of the dogs here, but then again we also don't have to give her a bath afterwards from jumping in the muddy creek.
Many more such trips to come, kid. Soft grass to fall down on.

In a clearing stands a boxer?

An update from yesterday: Pink Eye. The poor little girl started gobbing up yesterday morning and her mother wisely had me take her to the doctor in the afternoon. Got antibiotics started quickly and she was able to open her eyes this morning. She is actually in a great mood, but looks like Rocky Balboa in the first movie, when he wants Burgess Meredith to "cut his eyes" so the blood will release and he can see to keep fighting. This one just wants to see the bananas in front of her and books to be read. The hardest part of this is holding her down to clean the eyes and put in the clindomycin. The wails of a very independent little girl who hates having things in her life dictated to her, especially physically. It has been a bad last three weeks for illness: parainfluenza on her birthday, lingering at a low level for quite a while, now Strep.pneumo or Haemophilus influenza. She has been a good host. And during some of the nicest Autumn days yet. I am even more frustrated having sore throat myself. But it does cause me to appreciate vaccination: if I struggle with these small ailments, what would have been my reaction to her acquiring pertussis or malaria or measles? She and I live in fortunate times.
Adrian! I mean, Mommy!