Q now knows I'm not going to his game on Saturday. Doesn't really know why, but he knows. Things that Have, Probably Not Coincidentally, Happened Since:
Q has announced plans to spend a few minutes every day kicking a soccer ball so he "won't lose (his) skills".
Q has announced his latest eventual career aspiration: Soccer coach.
Q has played in two scrimmages in practice, yesterday and today, in which he was the only player on his team to score a goal. And in the second of which, and I am witness to this, he was hard-nosed, loose-limbed, speedy, graceful, and aggressive, running down people from behind and taking the ball away, zig-zagging through traffic, standing in idle moments while being coached with his hands on his hips, one leg cocked, listening but sizing up the other side at the same time instead of fiddling with the hem of his shirt and looking around for Mami or Papi. He is trans-frickin'-formed.
In other news, I spent the day at home today (dentist and doctor appointments), and so Janneke took advantage and went to the office early. I rolled out of bed around 7:10 and walked past T's room, where her bed was still a jumbled mass of pajamas, stuffed animals, and pillows. "Let her sleep," I said to myself. Q was in the kitchen eating breakfast. I greeted him and went to the living room to do my morning exercises.
On the floor, I heard the front door open. "Oh-oh," I called out, wondering what Janneke had forgotten. But Q, who could see the front door, cried, "T! What are you doing outside?"
I rolled over and stood up, and there was T, calm as can be, still in her pajama bottoms (she'd changed out of the top), wearing sneakers, with a jacket and her black "Madeline"-style hat on. "I just took a walk," she said.
Why in heaven's name I didn't get a picture I will never !!@#9*!@ know.
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