We were at the mall today for the first time in a really, really long time. We pretty much never go to malls, except for in January to make a few gift exchanges or returns. The girls really like the mall, though. And it's a reasonably fun place to be in the wintertime; there are interesting stores and things to see, and there is a playspace.
Today, as the girls tumbled joyously over the lame climbers, I had the most delightful memory of something Emmy did as a baby, or maybe as a toddler, or maybe it was something Anna did, but I really think it was something Emmy did. I have already forgotten what it was. That breaks my heart. I'm sure I'll remember it again someday, but if I don't write it down, I will think of it less and less frequently, and then it will disappear forever. I never really notice when the kids grow out of doing certain little things they do regularly, little idiosyncrasies, until they have vanished completely, and I can hardly remember what it was like... like how Anna used to hum while she ate. Or maybe you'd call it moaning. She always hummed, "Mmmmmmmm.... mmmmmmmm.....mmmmmmmmmm" while she ate. Some people were amused by this, some thought it was weird. I adored it. Cherished it. And then she stopped.
But here's a pleasant memory of Emmy, since I have written next to nothing about her childhood. Over Christmas this past year, she was just starting to sing the alphabet. She was really good at the first 5 letters, decent at the remaining first half, and then she just basically "bleh-bluh-bla-bla-bla" through the end. But, every single time she got to the L-M-N-O-P string, she would rapidly thrust out her little tongue for each letter. So cute. It's hard to describe in writing, but now when I read this, whether five years from now or twenty, I will remember. And I will be able to demonstrate. To her first boyfriend.
Emmy is a totally amazing person. Amazing to me, anyhow, because she's so foreign. Anna is such an open book to me that nothing she says or does really surprises me. I know how she's feeling at any given moment and I know when she needs more love, or more space, or more yelling, because she is pretty much me, reincarnated. But with Emmy, I do not know what makes her tick. She marches to the beat of her own drummer for sure, and she is so passionate and strong and, well, amazing, for it. She is so loving and adoring, snuggly and intimate. And then she is so independent and stubborn, angry and spiteful. She is in a phase of acting out, whether hitting, biting, spitting, or screaming 6 inches from my head, but when she sees my reaction, she stops instantaneously, sometimes hand still in the air, before she could bring it down, and she cocks her head to the side, her curls softly falling off her shoulders, and says, "Sorry, Mama," and spreads her arms open for a hug. (Actually, it sounds like, "Sawwy, Mummah.") Sometimes I think she is acting out for the attention. It's one way to be guaranteed a hug. Sigh. Classic second child. She doesn't get enough of our attention, and that makes me feel sad. And guilty. But she doesn't seem to want as much attention as Anna always has. She often wants to play alone. When she goes into her playroom, if I poke my head in to see what she's doing, she's usually furiously stirring a toy spoon in a toy bowl, or she's gently rocking and shushing her baby to sleep, and she whisks me out of the room. "Go! Go, mama, alone!"
It is a welcome development that the girls can, and want to, play alone. But it is bittersweet. Someday they won't want me to play with them at all. And then someday they just won't play anymore at all. And they will roll their eyes at me and how stupid I can be. (Well, Anna already does that.)
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