An aardvark stuffie toy brought over by Evelyn’s friend Robert was forgotten at our house. Reassuring him (via texting his mom), I asked which side of the bed the brown fuzzball preferred and what his snack preferences were. “Any side,” came the reply. “And pistachios and other nuts.”
Meanwhile, my nervous system is a little jacked. The interactions between Dave and Evelyn have my hackles raised—probably because I’m not okay with the way they’re going. I worry Dave is being manipulated and can’t set limits. When I feel that way, I want to swoop in, dominate, and put my foot down.
And yet, when I read that back, I know he can set limits. I know he does. It’s just that some areas are harder than others—like bedtime.
Break time. My “pop in to Evelyn’s bedroom for a moment” time.
Twice she called me back. The second time, she had kicked her blanket off and “needed” help putting it back on. At first I said, “No, you did that on purpose.” But after five steps out of her room and two steps down the hallway, I thought, what if she just needs to connect with me and be cared for? I can do that.
So I about-faced like a soldier at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and kissed and kissed and tucked her all in.
Speaking of that tomb in Arlington—I was there in 2012. It’s incredible. The guard follows a meticulous routine:
- Marches 21 steps down the black mat.
- Faces the Tomb for 21 seconds.
- Turns north, shifts the weapon, waits 21 seconds.
- Marches 21 steps back.
- Faces the Tomb again.
- Turns south, shifts the weapon, waits 21 seconds.
- Repeats, until relieved of duty at the Changing of the Guard.
Twenty-one was chosen because it symbolizes the highest military honor: the 21-gun salute.
Back to today: I’ve agreed to Dave’s request for more board games together. Up next is Sagrada, a dice game with, apparently, “very cute little ones.” The unboxing is happening. The lights are turning low. Time for me to go.
We’ll do this again sometime—let’s say tomorrow?
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 