Sunday, April 18, 2010

For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 66

Oh Sunday, you always know just where to find me: my face in the cool blast of manufactured air, contemplating the just filled (or just emptied, whichever the case may be) shelves of the refrigerator, strung out on the high of a week's worth of family, friends, and activities. The last seven days are a near blur. Surely, I am hallucinating. Surely, this little man of mine is not embarking on four months, attempting to crawl and cut teeth, and still impersonating Billy Crystal. Surely, Audrey has not found yet another use for buckets and dirt, tried on five new vocabulary words for size, and worn one of her favorite dresses for perhaps, the last time. Not to mention, talking to a little (yet slightly older and very chivalrous) boy through the fence posts. Yes, we're definitely considering that last one a hallucination. Mama is not ready for certain things yet.

As for the other equally unbelievable events of last week, let me get to writing them down. Lest my sleep-deprived mind start playing tricks on me and I forget:

Last Sunday, while in the car, Audrey said, "I'm happy, but part of me is sad. I'm trying to get my whole face happy."

On Monday, she found me writing with a purple pencil. In lieu of a normal eraser is an enormous eyeball-shaped one. Audrey asked why the pencil was sporting a giant eyeball. I told her I got it when I went to the eye doctor a year ago.

"How did you drive there with no eyes?" she asked.

Later, she informed me while opening a cabinet door, "I'm going to hide this crayon in this drawer so you can't take it away from me."

We drove by a hospital on Wednesday. Audrey gazed at it from her window. "What is that castle?" she asked. "Does Daddy work there?"

I had bedtime duty Thursday night. Audrey was wrapped around me, her arms and legs hanging down my sides and back as we made our way up the stairs.
"You have a beautiful house," she said.
"Thank you. Aren't we lucky God gave us such a beautiful house?"
"Yes. You're beautiful," she said. (Yes. Yes, I am feeling pretty lucky, as if God just gave me the keys to his favorite beemer to borrow and cruise around town with for a while. What? You thought God drove American?)

Saturday morning I was brushing Audrey's teeth. She had run her hands back and forth under the faucet.
"I'm sorry. I got water on you," she said.
"It's okay. It will dry."
"That's just what water does, honey," I answered.
"Mom, you're a genius."
I laughed.
"Only mans can be genius?" she asked.
"No honey. Women can be genius."

Audrey is in the habit of making up songs to express her mood or tell stories. Saturday as we drove to Lowes she sang:

"My brother is not a big girl yet. He's just a little boy. But he's getting bigger. Soon he'll be a queen."

Saturday night at dinner Audrey turned to Jason. "You need to behave mom."
"What about mom?" he asked.
"She's nice."

I know I'm slightly sleep-deprived. But, how is it that just yesterday I was kissing the top of Audrey's head, taking in the smell of baby shampoo, and this evening when I kissed her head I suddenly found myself crunching down on something resembling the grit of sand? Surely, she was just in onesies and not putting on her own sweatshirt backwards. I must be hallucinating.
Who else has the munchies?

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