Well, no, I realize I’m not dada. But I’m dada’s mama, and that’s close enough.
No, wait . . . on second thought, I think my favorite time was feeding Colbie breakfast—and she wanted to do it herself, but I had to get that rice cereal in her someway: her physical development depends on it. She makes a grab for the spoon—and success! She gets a mitt-full of cereal and smears it, finger paint style, all over her hair. One point for Colbie, goose egg for Grandma.
Wait a second . . . maybe my favorite time is when she’s playing on the living room floor with Grandpa pushing her in the little car. Colbie sticks her feet straight out, throws her head back, and laughs like she’s going a hundred miles an hour.
Hold on. I forgot that for sure my favorite time is when she’s playing in the pool or the bathtub. I think she’s half water spaniel.
Or maybe my favorite time is when her lips turn blue and fingers are pruny, and it’s time to take her out and dry her off. When you're 9 months old, people wrap you in towels shaped like monkeys or birds or cartoon critters. It goes with the territory.
Or maybe my favorite time is when she sees Tally, the yellow lab, her best friend and big sister. Colbie loves her Tally. Their love is palpable, even through a double-paned thermal glass patio door--and that's one hunka hunka burning love.
Or maybe my favorite time is when we’re going for our morning walk . . . Colbie in the stroller and Tally on the leash. Tom and I still get to walk unleashed and unstrollered at this point. Colbie never misses a thing—every sound, every passing car, every bird. Her little head is swiveling as fast as it can swivel. No 360-degree head turns, thank goodness, but several impressively snappy 180's.
Or for sure my favorite time is when our Phoenix kids are all together and we’re just hanging around—or horsing around—or eating around—or laying around--or any kind of around. I just like being around them.
Living the large life in Arizona. It's ALL my favorite part.