Sophia loves to draw. Sophia looooooooves to draw. Her passion for drawing inspired the following unexpected instruction this week: "No no, honey. Draw on the paper, not the cheese."
But I digress. She'll fill page after page with dotty little faces, and although they all look pretty much alike to me, she informs me that THIS one is a happy and THIS one is a sad and THIS one is a happy. And so on.
I like best to stand aside and listen to her narrate her drawing. "Happy!" she squeaks, and then her voice drops to a gravelly croon of sorrow, "saaaad. oh, sad."
We are not too worried about her having adequate drama skills.
I feel as though my whole world is filled with those ambiguous balloon faces, as though the air around me is dotted with a constellation of happys and saaaads. One minute I am bubbling over because a son has brushed past me and he is smart and funny and kind and strong, and from where I sit, it looks like everything I ever wished for in him. And a minute later my heart is aching because someone has sailed so far away from us here, and I cannot seem to stop crying over her. I get a text from Clay and laugh out loud to remember again just how much I love him. And then I talk to a friend who is struggling so so hard, and it's like watching someone balance an enormous load - even if you know they can handle it, your hands itch to take it from them.
I agree, Sophia. It is happy! It is so so sad.
It is, it is.