04 March 2006

what we can make with our hands

Here is a picture of Hazel, snarfing the cookie dough, just after her groovy haircut. Her hair is growing rapidly and it's starting to get wild again.

I turned 34 on Monday, and decided to learn how to make quiche for my birthday. It's easy and yummy and Hazel doesn't care for it, so it's one of three or four foods we eat where she doesn't try to climb up my leg and into my lap to get her fair share.

Today we played with blocks and Hazel made the "castle" on the right by herself. Usually playing with blocks means that I build something and she swiftly destroys it.

Lately, however; she's been tapping into her sensitive side. Certain songs make her tear up, just because they're sweet and sentimental, I believe. Tonight, before bed, she picked up one of our newly selected library books and burst into a loud sob. The cover showed a mother tenderly snuggling a baby. She's been even more attached to her baby bear and has created a whole bear family out of the copious amounts of stuffed animals that crawl out of the walls each time a new baby enters the world. I don't know how we have at least sixed stuff bears in this house, but we do, and they've all found each other and become a family under the watchful/fickle eye of Hazel. The other day she wouldn't go anywhere without her baby bear and a small blanket, so her father fashioned a sling out of the blanket and satisfied Hazel's apparently fundamental and desperate need to nurture something cuddly. She walked the streets of downtown Portland cradling and gazing lovingly at the little, pink stuffed animal bear. Today, she practically demanded to hold a child I'm guessing was 10- or 11-months-old while she was swinging at the park. That child has baby fever worse than I do.

It's all cuter than anything, but weird, too. Especially the new emotions that come with songs and pictures that, to my mind, have no real association to her experience as I know it. But, she does go to daycare, and she spends lots of time with her father. She has a life away from me. And, she's her own little dude, and I guess that's what it's really all about. She's growing in ways I wasn't expecting until puberty (with the sudden crying, I mean). Wait until she's fifteen, feeling bloated and watching greeting card commercials.