Light in the Darkness

We all didn't wake up until 8. Every day a little later. Except Matt, of course. So I'm probably wrecking everybody's life by not leaping up and doing whatever fun thing is promised for today. However, I did, for my own self, want to remark that the entire nature and meaning of my life has changed in the last week, most strangely, by the presence and muscle of Elphine. I guess this is as it should be. She is going to be thirteen in less than a month. She's growing every single day, which drives me crazy. She's basically turning out to be a whole human person, in the way a parent desperately hopes.

Anyway, as far as I can tell, the best thing that has ever happened to her was me collapsing flat with whatever stupid illness this is (and I've made up my mind that today I'm going to be better, not going to be unwell any more, as of right this second, or maybe two seconds from right now). I noticed, on the second day, a certain gleam in her eye and observed that she was buzzing back and forth. Some time later she came in and announced that the “front room was picked up”. When I staggered forth from my bed of death I found she had really more than “picked up”. She had made all the beds, unloaded the dishwasher, folded and put away clothes, coped with all the odds and ends aquired in the course of the day, cleaned the kitchen, and that everyone was dressed and not hassling me about anything. Since then, every evening, she undergoes a similar burst of tidying, and the same in the morning. And, as far as I can tell, it seems that the small manageable space, and me not being down her throat, have produced a satisfying sense of ownership in her. And more also, last night she came in complaining that every time she put something away, someone would come along and take it out again. I smiled a gracious and happy smile. “Yes,” I said, “it's horrible, isn't it?” She nodded. “Well,” I said, “that's the way of it. That's why I'm always screaming at home in rage and frustration.”

She looked sad and then said, “well, I guess I could do more at home.”

“That would be lovely,” I said.

Later, when Alouicious came in to complain about the state and quality of his life, I pointed out the helpful joy his sister has turned out to be. He looked confused, like none of the words I was saying could be understood by anybody. That's ok, I can drip like water on a stone, just like he can. We are pretty evenly matched.

So anyway, this is turning out to be the best vacation ever. And now I'm going to go be well. Have a lovely day.