Drawing

A is an artist. She is singing, "Valentine, Valentine, wont ya be my Valentine?" and drawing pictures of fairies, bedrooms, and weddings. I am sipping lukewarm coffee and checking email. E is upstairs recovering from his afternoon with A. His kids are away with their mother.

It is grey, surprisingly, after our summer of relentless sun. This will be a good excuse to stay in and do nothing. Yesterday at the park, A started screaming as she followed another little girl through the woods. I didn't know what was going on. She was crying and hiccuping and holding her legs. She'd been stung three times by wasps. It took about an hour to calm her down. There were three swollen red blotches on her legs that have all but disappeared now, thank goodness. I had no idea how to treat wasp stings until I googled it. What did we do before google?

It is now pouring rain. Now she is singing, "For me you'll always be 44," and hugging me. She's been listening to too much Lady Antebellum. She likes the idea of nostalgia. I'm just happy that she's happy. We've been forcibly separated for too long. Now that she gets to talk to me whenver she wants, she seems a much happier child.

The drawings, her way of narrating her world, attest to that.