Scooter

After dropping Heath off at school this morning, Stella and I stopped by Earth Fare to pick up a few essentials--milk, cereal, Ben and Jerry's Half Baked. Pre-Stella I used to think shopping with Heath was impossible, now it's nearly a luxury to have just one child with me.

We returned home from the store and I put the groceries away and cleaned up the breakfast mess that was left when we had to make a mad-dash for school. Stella quickly made her way to the train table and began to play with all of Heath's things that are typically off limits. The Fire Station, fire trucks, Super Hero figures. I can tell that she relishes the moments of solitary play when he's at school, and there was a slight glimmer in her eye while she chewed on Incredible Hulk's green foot. She's usually having a toy swiped from her possession, or is being plowed down by a fire fighter responding to an emergency.

Lately, though, there are some moments of amicable play between the two. It doesn't usually last very long. When they're playing with the doctor's kit and Heath is insisting that the shot device goes in the nose, and I hear him say, Hold still, Gigs, you might need a band-aid after this one, I know this will soon be followed by Stella's cries. But those short moments when I hear them giggle together, or see him hand her a race car, or they're involved in their latest shared activity, chasing each other around the house, each of them holding a push toy, I can't help but feel delighted. A year ago he couldn't be in her presence without presenting her with a kitty cat claw scratch across her face.

From the kitchen I saw Stella let go of the train table, SpiderMan dangling from her mouth. A police car was on a chair about six steps from the table. She wanted it and I could tell she was considering doing her usual plop down on her bottom and scoot like a chimpanzee across the floor.

Then she did it. She took six steps to the chair and grabbed on to the police car, then hunkered down on the floor to safety. These were not her first steps. I've watched her take three here, five there. And these steps she takes, I mean, they are skillful and strong. But her preference is still the bottom scoot.

So she scooted back over to the train table, police car in one hand, SpiderMan and Incredible Hulk hanging from her mouth. She stood up and placed all her goodies on the table beside the fire truck. When she realized she had an audience she looked up at me and gave me her biggest gapped-tooth pumpkin grin.

I saw you walk, I told her.

No, she said and giggled.