“How did you do it?” my daughter asks with an exasperated sigh, the kind that expires like a thin whisper from her soul. She is weary, and the noise level is high. She plops down next to me in a chair and then leans to one side and pulls out a Lego man from under her.
It’s funny how at my age I am writing blogs about little children. Mine are grown, or are they? It seems like all four of our children revisit me in the faces of their children, in the time warp of my grandchildren’s’ melded features. I see them again, the wonder is still there, and the same chatty persistent questions repeat themselves.
“Do worms yawn?”
“What do squirrels think?”