Snapshot #6

Jonathan: "What will you do when you grow up, Florence?"
Florence: "Drink beer and wine...and push buttons on my computer!"

Snapshot #4

Out of the mouth of Bubs:

"Don't you wanna pway jumping scutes upstairs with me?" (An invented name for an invented game involving plastic rings hurled skillfully at the far wall.)

"MOM! Can I hold your hand!" (in a panic whenever we are out walking)

"Here's your pwesent." (singsong voice, proffering a toy wrapped in a towel or blanket or paper)

"My shadow looks like a gwown-up!"

"Let's do our singing books, Fwowence." (each night as they begin the ritual of "singing" through the huge pile of children's books on their bedside table)

"Yeah! We're on the path of LIFE!" (shouted from his bed as I descend the staircase after commending the children for their obedience before tucking them in)

"Cheese-a-most-a-veetos!" (chanted loudly, often, and for no apparent reason)

Snapshot #3

Florence is late in her fourth year of life, my long-legged worrier, my firstborn. Her cheeks react to any exposure to sunshine, even insipid winter light, with a burst of freckles. She and her best pretend friend, Loya, have long conversations while she uses the bathroom these days, and Loya often sleeps in the bathtub, so Florence considerately scrubs the walls during her evening bath to make it nice. Her favorite toy is Baby Babette, who is often sickly, or feeling shy. When it comes to art, Florence prefers to narrate a story while she scribbles densely with various colors. If she does attempt to draw people they emerge as colorful humped ghosts with cicada eyes and, occasionally, hands.  She often murmurs, "I wish I was you, Mom" or "Mom, I wish I was baby Reid" when she sees something enviable in our behavior (checking email, doing dishes...getting a diaper changed). She is drawn to shy, reserved personalities. I think her idea of paradise is a sing-along with her favorite people, or perhaps it's the moments she and her dad sit together at the piano and play "their song" together.