Waiting, waiting. Waiting for the Toddler to come home from her walk. Waiting for my sanity to return because it's obviously deserted me in the night. I can spend whole mornings or afternoons praying for the Toddler's attention to be taken somewhere else- for her to adopt the thrill that is independant play. For her, in other words, to stop hanging on Mommy so she can either find the time to blog or find some ppp-opportunity to bring in the gas money. And once this Toddler leaves I spend a whole twenty minutes running around trying to get all that stuff done. Leaving the rest of the hour or two to sit around staring morosely at the door and wondering if she'll come back soon.

It sucks, to have your self-esteem caught up in the chubby fingers of your two-year old. Used to be my heart was only twisted like this from the Boy. Or my best friends. Now they don't seem to have the power to twist me in knots. That power has been completely usurped by a small blond child who doesn't even know the power she has.

The cold that swept through here was not of the chilly-air variety, unfortunately. We've almost run out of cold medicine, we did run out of tissues at one point, and I'm pleased to report that for the most part the Toddler is up and into everything again. A good sign of recovery. I got a few projects off the knitting needles and have started more. Because it's a sin or something to let the needles lay around empty. Right? Let's keep looking forward. We've done the summer cold, the knocks and bumps and scrapes of childhood, the pricking of my fingers every few hours all day long. There can only be a calmness in our future.