Everything changes in a second, the second the phone call comes. I've been in a fog since Saturday. Leftovers in the washer and shampoo caked, unrinsed, in the girls' hair -- I am trying every moment to be with you, Dad.
Naturally our first major apartment maintenance project would occur this week, too. There have been several attempts at a quick fix but now the word is that someone (Victor? Yevgeny?) will rewire the whole kitchen soon. For now, I am instructed to only use one appliance at a time: boil water or start laundry... reheat soup or dry the clothes.
The dog... never mind. It's simply madness.
Our upcoming trip looms large in EB's mind. "Pass-a-porting" is her new term for sorting her toys. Today she packed a small basket ("my sparkly purse") with a few necessities (handkerchief; Puffily, a pink bath sponge that she has adopted; and a golden tassel that fell off something or other), then marched into the office and demanded, "Where is my boarding pass?"
Sometimes I am amazed to hear my own voice coming out of her mouth. "My hands are full," she said archly as she carried some blocks to the living room. Handing me other toys to carry, she ordered, "You deal with these."
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