Noodles

In an attempt to distract her from tormenting her brother by stealing his trains and ripping apart the track, I settle Z in the kitchen on a big beach towel with a large container full of dry pasta and various spoons, scoops, and bowls. My goal is to get some kitchen work done while she plays contentedly, but I find myself captivated by watching her.

At 15 months, she is 24 pounds of delightful chubbiness. Her cheeks are round and just begging to be kissed, her arms plump, her hands dimpled and sweet. The back of her head is a mass of curls; her hazel eyes shine. She is totally focused on scooping and dumping the pasta, squatting down like a Chinese man at a bus stop, tongue rolled in concentration. After a successful scoop and dump maneuver- pretty impressive for such a little one- she stands victoriously, wide-eyed and grinning, knowing that I will be ready to celebrate this monumental accomplishment. And I clap and squeal with true delight. And I can't believe she has made it this far without being devoured by my kisses. But she is too busy to be slowed down by such shows of affection. There is still more pasta to be scooped and dumped, and so she squats down again, back at her task, completely oblivious to the joy she brings to my heart, but aware nonetheless that I am there, watching for the next chance to celebrate with her.