Our house is filled with the sound of grandchildren. Two of them. Henry is 5 months and has the loveliest smile. His sister Kelly is two and half and she laughs, talks a wild streak about everything imaginable. Why are we here? she asks regularly, wanting to keep the sequences of her life in order. She knows that her family will spend a month in Vancouver after they leave us tomorrow and that her home in Edmonton is waiting for them to return in late March. She likes her bed with the comforter I made for her and she loves the wooden puzzles of diggers and cement trucks her grandfather patiently constructs with her. Her brother chortles from the blanket on the floor in the kitchen and we all walk carefully around him.
Yesterday Kelly played in the yard where her father attended elementary school in the last century. Her dad told her he’d participated in the fishing derby on the dock where we walked to look at boats. I never caught a fish! he exclaimed. And she wondered about this aloud. Never a fish? Nope.
This morning I was reading something and I saw this equation for happiness.
And the other day I looked out and saw Kelly fitting arms into the snowman she’d made with her mum. Lots of arms because, well, why not?