Absorption

It's late, and I'm tired, and my day tomorrow starts at about 5:30 and will go until 11 or so with not more than five or ten minutes for a break, let alone lunch. I know, I know. You are playing your tiny violin. Or at least one of you is. You know who you are.

Anyway. But I am making myself push through this rough patch, in which I feel I have nothing to write about of any interest (my god, yesterday I told you about my dream), because I have faith (sometimes) that there is something worthwhile on the other side of it, and I won't find out unless I persevere.

An anecdote:

Lily had a long day today, and I hadn't seen her, and when I got home from work I asked her to tell me something special about her day, and as always she didn't want to. The information has to come from her. If I solicit it, she clams up; I know this, but day after day I try in spite of myself. Sometimes, on a good day, something juicy leaks through.

While I was cooking dinner she came into the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. "We played a fun game on the roof today, Mama," she said. I tried not to appear overly interested.

"Oh?" I said, keeping my cool.

"Yes. Luke and Calvin got bikes, and Isabel and I decided that they would be our taxi drivers, so they picked us up and took us to work, and then they waited outside while we were at our jobs, and then they drove us home after work."

"That sounds...fun," I said, choking back laughter and, I must confess, a little bit of pride.

"It was," she said. And over her shoulder as she walked out with her water, "But I'm not talking about anything else."

Okay. That was enough.