Throughout the day, the usual flotsam and jetsam is strewn about our house: loose puzzle pieces, stray hair ties, socks that apparently perished two feet from the finish line of the laundry closet door.
(On that note, the vast majority of socks in our house have very little stamina.)
But very often I stumble upon scenes that never fail to make me smile, such as dolls crowded together on a toddler stool in front of the kitchen sink. They have no rhyme or reason to me, but are an indelible testament that a child’s imagination has passed through and a good story has happened here.
I write this at 10pm, because there is a stuffed baby zebra lying on a thick pink stroller blanket in the middle of the living room. It has newborn size baby pants on.
This particular one isn’t really a mystery. Zebra is Lucy’s baby. Never mind the (human) baby doll that Baby Jo “brought” as a gift when she was born; Zebra is the one who has been rocked and nurtured and mothered lovingly for over a year now. She naps when Baby naps. She is fed at faithful intervals. She sits in her little mommy’s lap for nap time stories, just like Baby. And this afternoon, it was very important for Lucy to put pants on her before we all left for the park, so that she would be warm at home.
Lucy loves in the way she sees love displayed, and it matters not at all if hers is only observed by eyes made of black glass.
So there’s one last thing for me to do before I head up to bed.
