Around the table, we have been telling stories, true ones. They are never any good, but the kids don’t know better. Yesterday, I told Reed about he and Helen at Margot’s age. I told Reed how Helen used to insist two eggs every day for breakfast. How she did that, I can’t exactly remember. One-year-olds have their ways, certainly.
Helen is inching toward three and it shows. Every day her face looks older. Her baby-roundness is nearly gone. She is growing out of toddlerhood. It’s happening right before my eyes. And I am enjoying the girl- the bright, helpful, compassionate girl- she has become.
What they don’t tell you about having kids is the part about friendship. It used to be Reed tagging along and chatting, but these days Reed has been keen on time alone, this rainy week spending most of his time building in his room and listening to Superfudge.
Lately, it has been Helen. And she has become a girl. And I am grateful for the company I keep. She is, more than ever, a very good friend.