This last weekend I was at my aunt and uncle's house, and spent some time with some cousins. One of them taught my daughter a new song. It starts with "My hands upon my head I place..." She loves it. We sing it 30 - 40 times a day... or, I sing it, and she does some of the motions. It's nice to have one more for the continual repeat of my life. She's really good at folding her arms now. I try to think about how I will miss singing for her, and her cute little self insisting that we sing "Once there was a snowman" or "Five little ducks" or "I have a little turtle" or "Eensy, weensy spider" over and over again, but somehow, I'm just sick of the songs.
My daughter's a screamer. If you hear a loud piercing shriek in the store, look around, we're there. Maybe this is related to my ennui of the songs, I know I'm being held hostage by the scream.
But today she climbed a hill by herself, despite a steep incline for someone her size. And climbed on the dishwasher door so she could get to the good stuff (the butter knives). And she ate a good lunch and dinner. And signed more after her piece of candy. And was really well behaved when we talked to the stake president (one of my religious leaders who I work pretty closely with in my responsibilities with the young women).
I'm tired. I work 5-6 hours on my dissertation, watch Eleanor for 10-11 hours, and then sleep in whatever's left over. Sorry husband. Posts will be few and far between in the next while, as I finish up, and try to use my computer time wisely.
But I've completed the rough draft of a second chapter (three down, two to go!) and will finish the rough draft of the fourth one tomorrow. Can I do this after all? I guess so. My stake president asked if I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Coming like a freight train I replied.
