Saturday, 2 October 2010
Dear Little Fish,
Dear Little Fish,
I love the way your biggest concern when we meet after two days apart is whether or not you can keep the broken toy lorry you have lifted from Grannie and Grandad's house. And I love the way your first thought when we meet after a shorter separation is "how is my sister getting along?"
I love the way you are old enough to get yourself dressed, and young enough to want to wear clothes with Peppa Pig appliqued all over them. I love the fact you are big enough to have long, protracted conversations about how to make porridge and stew apples, and little enough to spend hours practicing putting lids on boxes and taking them off again.
I love the fact you sleep for thirteen hours or more at night, and then throw yourself into life, bouncing around for the day until that early bedtime rolls around once again. I love that you ask me if I am allowed to give you a shower, and that you always want one more kiss, and one more extra big sqidgy cuddle.
I love how seriously you play, how tired caring for all your baby dolls makes you, and how you have clung fast to the same wish for a Christmas present for three months now. I love how you fizz with excitement over the tiniest of pleasures, and how wildly pleased you are about the prospect of a friend coming to play.
I love the way you can tell me, repeatedly, that you do not want any breakfast at all, and how you won't eat your porridge, and how you don't like it or me or anyone else - but then polish off the whole bowl in double quick time once you accept the inevitability of the mealtime.
I love the way your biggest idea of a real treat is to take your baby for a likkle walk in your buggy. And I love how you don't care how wobbly your baby's buggy is, now that you have repeatedly squashed it with your power chair. And I love the fact that, if you have some money burning a hole in your pocket, you will choose to spend it on a bottle of water or squash, rather than crisps or chocolate or little trashy toys.
I love the way you talk about "All my children" meaning the girls and boys in your class, and how pleased you are about the possibility of seeing Grannie and Grandad for five minutes in town, and seeing how much you love and care for Mog. I love the way you try so hard to like dogs, right up to the point where you might actually have to touch one, and that, despite your inability to stroke or pet them, as soon as any dog has moved out of reach you immediately start talking about how you might have one of your own one day.
I love the fact you can stay excited about the possibility of learning to drive when you are older, even when we tell you how long you'll have to wait for that to happen. I don't think I love the idea that you might be able to drive one day, and a whole year younger than your peers though. I love the way you have chosen your car, size and colour, and space for Mog, already.
Dear Helen House,
I love the way you took care of Little Fish for me for the past few days, so that I could get enough space between her and myself to remember all the ways in which she is so precious.