slow patient motion

On Monday, Geoff was still on break. He and I found ourselves home with our Calliope, who was on her second day battling a virus. After seeing the boys off, I changed sheets and drank my coffee. Then I brought Clara to school and went to the Y for a run. It was as if I was in frenetic-buzz mode. Coming home, I stumble-slide into the laundry room to re-dose Calliope. The scene I find stops me in my tracks:

It is Geoff folding laundry and listening to Brahms violin and piano concerti. Calliope is on our bed wrapping her fingers in yarn, fastidiously. The whole thing seems as if in slow-motion. The dryer is rumbling. Calliope tells me that Dad showed her the purple sky. And on her cheek Geoff has painted a butterfly.

It is Tuesday night and our girl is so much better. Due less to pharmaceuticals and far more to face-paint, yarn, and the touch of a wonder-working papa.