O-tay

Harper says "otay" like the kid on "The Little Rascals." She actually has several speech impediments and they are all pretty entertaining. Her current favorite emotion to identify is 'frustrated'. Only her 'r' is 'w' so it sounds like this: "Mommy, are you fwustuhwated?" Of course the question itself is enough to make whatever I am frustrated about seem pretty minor. It's convicting having an audience all day long. Especially now that she is getting so much more perceptive. If she senses a change in my tone, she'll ask, "Are you sad, Mommy?" Something else that she's been doing lately. If I am in another room and she does something she thinks might get her in trouble, she'll call out, "It's otay, Mommy!" which, it turns out, means that it probably is NOT okay. I heard a bang and called out, "What happened?" She came running in, brow furrowed, "Don't say 'what happened'. It's otay." It's like Adam trying to explain the fig leaves.
We're having some great weather. On Saturday while Jodey stayed home with the napping, I walked to Buffalo Grill to get a pancake. I think it's around 4 miles round trip. I sat and ate my pancake (they are HUGE, hence the singular) and scrambled egg, read a couple of chapters of The Chosen, then walked back home. It's a recipe for goodness: a brisk walk, a gigantic pancake, a little Hasidic history embedded in a great story. If only spring didn't inevitably lead to summer.
I do not like putting away outgrown baby clothes. It makes me melancholy. I looked at Harper yesterday and she is such a little girl now. There is nothing of baby left about her. Now that she is so independent I no longer know every inch of her as I did. I'll notice a new bruise on her shin and have no idea when it happened or how. Hm. If only spring didn't inevitably lead to summer.