Spent much of the day watching Paige or Claire or both while mom tended to errands. I was laundry to do, floors to mop, calls to make and dinner to cook. A typical parental-leave day.
On my lone break I went for a run. It was 3 p.m. The sun had an eerie burnt-orange light, as if it was shining through a stained glass window. The day was glorious. Running through Tryon Creek seemed a bit like running through some cathedral of light full of comfort and levitating beauty.
Claire has become an involved three year old. She's her own person now. She speaks in long, complete sentences. She corrects me when I use the wrong word. She jockeys to get what she wants, offering, for example, to put away the cookies so she can sneak a taste of one. She anticipates the impact of some of her actions. She forgives easily. Except when she hits, of course.
Paige began sitting up on the floor. She needs the support of a nursing pillow, but she can stay upright. She likes this view. She falls quiets and focuses on whatever's in front of her, be it a blanket, toy or pillow. It's a new view. Kind of like a run through a park on a fall afternoon.
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