Friday, December 30, 2005
Telling the Story
Tough week for the child: switching beds from loft to floor (She misses getting tucked in.) meant everything in her "den" had to find a new place: closet, bed drawers, whatever. She had three shopping carts of things to donate to the poor, including 162 books. What a kid.
The room's still a catastrophe, but we had mercy long before the end of the day. While I was cleaning out my den in the basement, I heard laughing and giggling, so I ascended to find the child's bedroom still catastrophic. My wife wisely Told the Story of how Brit came to live with us. It's an old story, really; our daughter certainly is familiar with the details. But she still cackles with glee over the discussion about who was going to drive home and who was going to sit in the back seat with her on the way. And other things.
I fixed a nice dinner of smoked sausage, egg noodles, oven-baked potatoes and carrots with ginger sugar. Ice cream for dessert ... while we watched the third Star Wars movie ... I mean the sixth ... I mean the Ewok one from '83. 10:21 final credits shot the bedtime all to heck, but oh well ...
Anita suggested I Tell the Story from my viewpoint next time. Funny thing is, I don't have much direct memory of the day we drove across Iowa to pick up our daughter-to-be at a farm near the Missouri River. My wife's version is esconced in tribal memory now. It was more than four-and-a-half years ago, and though it seems like last week in a way, it still feels blurry to both my heart and mind.
She didn't know how to read then. Today over lunch, she picked up Anita's copy of A Christmas Carol that was sitting on the table. I didn't realize it until I got the first question, "Dad, what does borne, b-o-r-n-e mean?" Then it was, "What's a greatcoat?" Then it was, "What? Mom said this was a good story."
Even if she wasn't the most avid reader in the family, I would still love my child to a blur.
