Instead

"She has teardrop eyes." Her teacher said.

Thinking of the thousand endearing expressions on her face, I smile at her with an accumulating joy. My heart is full. She sings and dances as if it was just another natural gesture. She sees my pocket and says, "there's a wocket in your pocket!" In the middle of a conversation, she asks, can we play instead?

I wonder how she learned the word "instead."

In our interview for her first school, we were asked how much time we spend with her. 24 x 7 with D., and the same for me, I suppose, except for the hours I work in another room at home, running, or picking up her brother from school.

I wonder about the words she'll learn and how she'll never cease to be fascinating.

A Family Portrait by V. (3.1 years)

Doodles in ink, by I. (9 years)