Five Minutes

This is what five minutes with Heather looks like.

She crawls over to you, and grabbing your pants she pulls herself up to standing.  She looks up at you with her brown eyes and you can't resist.  You can never resist.

You scoop her up onto your lap and she claps her pudgy little hands.  Clap, clap, clap.  You kiss her soft squishy cheek.  She says "eeaah".

You repeat, just in case this conversation is important, you want her to know you're listening.  "Eeaah."  You're not sure you have the intonation correct, but you hope she won't mind.

"Na na." She says.

You nod your head slowly, agreeing.  What can you do but agree with a statement like that?

"Na na." She says again, this time nodding her head, up and down, up and down.

You kiss her cheek three times, and put her back down on the floor.

She zooms off across the room, crawling at top speed.  She turns a corner and you can't see her anymore, except for one leg.

Suddenly her head peeks around the corner, checking to see if you are still watching.  When she sees that you are, her face lights up with the happiest, smoochiest smile you've ever seen.

You say, "Hey, Mook", because that's the name you've been calling her lately.  She vanishes behind the corner again, for one second, and then pops back out.  She claps wildly when she sees you are still watching.

This sudden game of peek a boo goes on once or twice more, then she is crawling back across the floor to you.  She stops within three inches, and reverses!  A game changer! She disappears again around the corner, all but two legs this time.  She pops around, checking to see if she has your attention.

She does.  Of course she does.

An ear splitting shriek fills the air, and Hanna is sobbing, her poor little heart clearly breaking. Heather's face crumples up as if the depth of agony Hanna is suffering has breached her own body and is spilling over to her baby sister.  I say, "Come on Mooka the Mook, let's go see what's the matter with Hanna."  She nods her head and begins crawling for the door.  I follow, at her pace.

I can tell from Hanna's crying that she isn't hurt, but that an injury of injustice has occurred.  We get to her room, and she is distraught, screaming and wailing.  She sees me and comes running for comfort and loves.  "Hallie took my socks," she explains.

Crisis indeed.

Well, it was a lovely five minutes with Heather, while it lasted.