Tonight Rachel begged me to play "baseball" while Drew was out grocery shopping. "Baseball" involves her using an inflatable milk jug that Doug and Linda bequeathed to us as part of a tub of inflatable kids-size balls that they gave us a couple of years ago (there's a picture of Rachel in the bucket of balls on her 1st birthday. She looks totally delighted to be there, naturally). Right before she began, she stunned Drew (and me) by informing him that she wants a baseball mitt for her next birthday.
"Um...OK!" Drew said delightedly.
"Do you REALLY want a mitt?" I asked. "A real one?"
"Yeah," she said firmly.
I'd love to sign her up for tee-ball. She was in the room when she heard me telling this to Drew and said, "You have to be, like, 5! Or in 2nd grade!"
Her coordination and concentration are terrific. "Keep your eye on the ball, keep your eye on the ball," I kept saying tonight as I threw gentle pitches. And all of a sudden I was back on the tennis courts near Hackensack High, with Mom telling me, "Keep your eye on the ball!" Keep your eye on the ball!" (and then gently scolding me when I'd complete a shot and then pose prettily, saying, "This isn't ballet, Lisa.").
The older Rachel grows up, the more I hear Mom's and Dad's voices as I guide Rachel through daily life. That's one thing they never tell you happens when you become a parent.
***
This morning I let Drew sleep in while Rachel and I did some coloring before breakfast. Actually, Rachel was instructing me precisely what colors to use for Cinderella's hair, dress, and bow.
"What happens if I DON'T color her hair?" I teased Rachel at one point.
"You'll DIE," she said, quick as a wink. You'd better believe I got back to coloring....
***
Rachel's version of one of the verses from "Clementine":
When she colored
She colored Barbie
And she fell upon her tummy...
She stopped there and resumed the normal words, which are pretty disturbing.
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