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Mystery of mysteries

March 29, 2013

I spent the day with Toddler J, who is so unrelentingly cheerful and excited about everything (Look!  At the flowers!  They smell good! Look at that long tree!  I’m going to hug it.  Look!  It’s a birdie. Hi, birdie!…) that she forces you to be too. Like most three-year-olds, she has no inner monologue.  There is only an outer monologue.  It’s a quality that might be extremely irritating in, say, a co-worker.  But in a 3-year-old, it’s completely disarming.  Among my favorite quotes of the day.

“Oooh!  Look at that very beautiful doggie” (reader, he was not especially beautiful, but he was wearing a rather dashing green sweater).

[in a restaurant, when they turned on some jazz] “Oooh!  I really like this music a LOT.”

[While looking at AJ’s chess set] 

Harriet (showing Toddler J the knights): What do these look like?

Toddler J:  Horsies!

Harriet (showing the rooks): What about these?

Toddler J: Minerals!

[While sitting on the couch in her bare feet]

“Harriet, let me show you my b00bies!”


“I want to show you my b00bies.  A dinosaur fell on my foot and gave me b00bies.”


“Yes, b00bies.”

When you squire Toddler J around the neighborhood, it’s like escorting a celebrity.  Everybody knows her by name and she has a smile and sometimes a high five for everyone.  

While the day was thoroughly enjoyable, it was also totally exhausting.  I’d forgotten what it’s like to be around 3 year olds.  On the plus side, it’s totally okay to take a nap, which I did while she was sleeping.

After Cranky picked up Toddler J, I spent an hour practicing violin before heading to church, where I played a self-abridged version of Biber’s 16th sonata of the rosary, one of my all time favorites, but a piece I’ve never played in public before (I’ve written a bit about playing this piece before, <a href=>here</a>). I’m not a great violinist and it wasn’t my best playing because I was a little nervous about it, but I felt like I played really well and the piece, for unaccompanied violin, sounded lovely in the echoy acoustic of the church.  

The organist was in fine form again tonight.  He asked a few of us if we wanted coffee or tea.  I asked for water and L, one of the singers who was sitting next to me in the choir loft said, as a joke, “wine.”  But then the organist disappeared and came back with wine!  We clinked plastic cups.  “Where are the canapes?” I whispered to her while the priests intoned the Passion According to John in the sanctuary below, “This is the best church service ever,” She whispered back. “I wonder what we’ll get tomorrow.”  Then we looked at each other and nodded.  “Hard liquor.”

The organist came over to me at the end of Mass and thanked me for playing.  “You could play again tomorrow,” he said.  “Maybe in major key a little faster.  Just leave out a couple of flats.”  Hmm.  I think I’ll be sticking with the originally planned Telemann Sonata.

It was nice to walk home in the crisp cold of the evening, and even nicer to arrive at my front door with the knowledge that there was nothing else I had to do today.  Telemann can wait until tomorrow.  

4 Comments leave one →
  1. March 30, 2013 6:42 am

    Do you suppose if he’d shown her a pawn, she’d have said vegetable?

  2. March 30, 2013 6:43 am

    When I showed her the pawn, she said, “Like on a building?” We’re still trying to figure that one out.

  3. March 30, 2013 8:09 am

    My goodness, I am falling in love with your organist.

  4. freshhell permalink
    March 31, 2013 8:40 am

    🙂 My J still has almost no inner monologue. I think some kids never grow out of it. Can’t wait to see Cranky’s J again. I think she’ll like Dusty too. Dusty seems to be some kind of kid magnet.

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