The River is Wide, The River is Deep

I spent a long time sitting on the floor with Arabis just watching her. The pants which were last week too long and required rolling up a few times now fall just where they should at her ankle. Her hair seems to have had another growth spurt as well and is beginning to wave slightly away from her head and behind her ears, like a strangely winged bird. She looks like a little miniature human now (not that she didn't before).

She is her own person, my daredevil daughter; climbing up the dining room chairs to stomp on the table. Other milestones include:

• Opening the bottom storage compartment on the oven to play with the pots and lids.
• Getting into the bread crumbs and spilling them on the concrete floor where she proceeded to make snow angels.
• Climbed out of the restraint system of her high chair, then climbed the rest of the way down while I was doing the dishes. I admit, I stopped to watch her do it, only intervening at the last minute to prevent her plummeting to the concrete floor.
• Has completely rearranged my tupperware drawers. I found a rubber penguin bathtub toy in amongst the lids this morning.
• Once again got into the croutons and fed them to the cat.
• Walked to the refrigerator, opened the door, took a sip from her bottle, put it back, closed the door and walked away.
  

The weasel's getting clever. We're doomed.

Today has been a strange, quiet day. I am tired and feeling anti-social. Not that I don't want company, but walking out amongst the people is a feat too daunting for me.

Mojo also woke on the wrong side of the world this morning. He was visited by strange dreams. He said I tried to push him in front of a car. I'm not even going to hazard an analysis.

My forehead aches. I have a piece of brain stuck there. And it hurts.

Ari came over for dinner last night and we looked through her photo albums. Memories of a shared past, people we both knew, others who I didn't but were central to her life, we all had such a wonderful upbringing at the Faire. And then, in amongst the myriad of faces, Robin's would appear; here as a teenager, there as a man. And we would be quiet for a moment in grief.

My daughter kept turning back to one page in Ari's book, with a particularly striking photo of him. Over and over she would turn back and there he would be.

Sigh. No point to this post, other than grief. Also joy. A strange dichotomy.