Dear Calliope--

"But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart." from the book of Luke.

I cannot help but spill the treasure. Today you offered your first "high point" at dinner. You said that your high point was going to Andre's house. You contributed to the dinner ritual voluntarily, unprompted! What do I say to my baby that carries her babies up and downstairs? You ask, "Mama, whattaya doin?" When I ask you, "What does God say when he sees you?" (The answer we teach her is "I love you.") She knows this but varies her response, "Hug!" She offers or playfully, "Dadda!"

You will be 21 months soon and I still have infant clothes I want you to wear. You are tough and coy. You have a steel-trap memory and being in your company lingers with me when I run to the store or even to the laundry room.

Your first story, "My bin-a-oon. Upina sky. Angel. It's okay. Oh my goodness." It seems like I just gave birth to you. How is it that you speak in paragraphs? How do I keep up with you, you are growing before my eyes. You sang to us in the car last night, trumping the radio, ceasing all of our conversations. Your delightful tune, filligreed with beauty and meaning that only you understand.

May you always tell us what's on your mind. May you always find your voice.