Every day there is something new - that is beauty, and perhaps the frustration, of childhood and of parenthood.

Around our house our newest things are Why; Mommy, watch me; and Hold me.
Those three statements are part of just about my every day.

Why.
Is the sky blue? Are we going to Nicholas' birthday? Does kitty meow? Are we driving this way? Can't I see baby Liam? Is Daddy at work? Can't I call Gramma? Do I have to pick up my toys? Brush my teeth, eat my breakfast, comb my hair, take a bath, wash my hands? Why?

Mommy watch me.
Watch me somersault. Watch me spin. Watch me color, paint, cut and glue. Wear my dresses and slippers. Watch me run. Skip, jump, dance. Watch me throw, kick, read. Stomp my feet, pout, cry. Watch me share, take turns, pretend, grow. Mommy watch me.

Hold me.
Me scared. Hold me, I sick. Hold me, mama, hug. Hold me, no doggie. No Izzy, No Heidi, NO DOG. Hold me, I tired, I grumpy, I cuddle you, Mommy. Hold me, Me sorry. Nuzzle nuzzle nuzzle, hug me. Love me. Protect me. Shelter me. Reassure me. Hold me.

And at times those three statements [questions??] drive me right up the wall. I get so tired of responding and filling what could have been the silence of my day. Why? Mommy watch me! HOLD ME!

And then I think back. And I remember. And I know that this phase is so important. And that it will repeat itself over and over for the rest of our lives

Because I can remember:

Why?
Why do I have to empty the dishwasher? Walk the dog? Empty the kitty litter? Wipe up the lemonade with a wet cloth? Why does he wear those tubes in his nose? Do we have to do a 'once over'? Why can't she get out of her chair? Do his hands shake? Why can't I have those boots, these jeans, an ESPRIT bag? Why?

Mommy watch me.
Flip on the uneven bars. Careen down the mountain. Kick the soccer ball, swing the bat, do a back handspring. Watch me run the race, limp to the finish line. Watch me leave. Watch me bloom and grow and put down roots. Watch me walk down the aisle, become a mother, become frustrated, smile, laugh, cry. Mommy watch me.

Hold me.
I am exhausted. Hold me, my heart is broken. My friend died. I am worried and stressed and in pain. My knee hurts. Hold me, I'm overjoyed, excited, overwhelmed. Hold me, he loves me, we're getting married, it's a girl. It's hard. I'm grouchy. I'm sleepy. Hold me.

So my hopeful silence is filled with her questions and antics and my answers and actions. Just as my Mom's rare silence was, and is, filled with me.

Because even now, I ask Why.
I earnestly say Mommy watch me.
I occasionally whisper Hold me.

And she answers.
And she does.
And she does.

And so will I. Over and over again.