We moved to Huntington Beach when Hope was about 9 months old. She wasn't old enough to walk or talk but she found a way of communicating about anything and everything.
I would ask her "where's your pancreas?" and she would point to her tummy in the general direction of where the organ might be located. I would casually ask her about our senior pastor, Bruce, and she would throw her head back and laugh relentlessly mimicking his style precisely. I would ask her where the boogies live and she would gently blow air through her tiny cherub nose, while being careful not to allow any escapees make a run for it. She had a distinct flare for letting me know that it was time for a diaper change. A strained, red face and a concentrated pucker while sitting on the floor was a dead give away.
As she got a little older she was able to portray Bob, our executive pastor, exactly. She could imitate his walk and not miss a beat. She enjoyed graham crackers in the nursery every week while going through the separation anxiety syndrome that some kids experience. The care givers would have the crackers waiting for her and as soon as I dropped her off, she made it immediately clear that she would not cooperate until the said nourishment was in her hand and making it's way to her open mouth.
These are the kinds of things I enjoy blogging about because if I don't document the memories I will surely forget them someday. So I keep these thoughts tethered in my heart and share them in cyberspace as the years accumulate and the wrinkles continue to invade my smile. I look forward to every one of them.
Roderick's love to spin a decent tale, even the little ones.
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