Jacob did it this morning, he really did. He said sort of a child's version of "I love you, Juju." He'd spent the night, and his mom and a friend had come to get him. The friend was holding him when he reached out for a hug for me--his hugs and "love" involve tilting his head against yours. It's the ultimate sign of affection from him. And then he raised his little face for a kiss. As I turned away, Jordan shouted, "He said it! Did you hear him? He said, 'I love you, Juju.'" Well, darn, I didn't actually hear him but it was enough for me that his mom thought he'd said it. She said later that they got a half block from my house and he began to cry for Juju. Be still, my heart!
We had a good time overnight. He was pretty fixed on "Schreck," so even when Jay and Susan came to visit with him, he motioned for Jay to "'M'on" (Come on) and watch it with him. Jay explained clearly he did NOT come over here to watch a movie, and pretty soon Jacob reappeared in the living room, clutching Froggie and Puppy with a pacifier in his mouth (time to throw it out but he won't hear of it!). When I put him to bed, I could hear him rattling around in his bed and talking to himself for an hour, but he never cried, and when I looked just before I went to bed, he was sound asleep.
Jacob's burst of love was the highlight of an otherwise edgy day. I'm not sure what I wanted to happen, but whatever it was, it didn't. I thought I finished the fifth chapter of my novel, went to my office to print it out and check a back file, brought it home to proofread and it was all wrong. And I didn't want to settle down to fix it. I think the dentist appt. tomorrow is hanging over my head--first clue I had a really frustrating but long dream last night about trying to find the dentist's office. I'm going to a new dentist, recommended by my just-retired longtime dentist, because so far I've consulted two others and they've prescribed things so radical that I can't believe my whole mouth, which doesn't feel or look any different to me, went south in less than a year. I know I need some things done, but replacing every filling in my head? All at once?
Tonight I had my Fourth of July picnic--Hebrew National hot dogs, baked beans (northern style, known down here as sweet beans and they were--I put molasses in them), cole slaw, deviled eggs, and ice cream. My longtime mentor and his wife were my guests--Fred saw me through my graduate studies and has remained a friend and source of advice lo these almost 40 years. He's an avid mystery reader and has read my first mystery, made some suggestions ("slow down"--that's the story of my life) and he went home tonight with the first four chapters of the next one. We had a great time, laughing and sharing family stories, occasionally talking about the changing university and more often about TCU Press and its projects.
"Slow down" makes me think of yoga, which is supposed to make me slow down. Yesterday, during a lesson, I realized that Elizabeth's ten breaths for a pose take a lot longer than mine. Today I tried to slow down, hold a pose longer, not rush through the routine. Yesterday she praised me but to my mind I could do no right--my feet kept cramping, my balance wasn't good, I didn't do nearly as well as when I practice. Today I did much better and tried some of the new poses she taught me yesterday--hard to hold all of them in my head. And hard, as she said, to remember all the things you have to think about--stomach tucked in, hips over heels, back straight, and so on--while you hold a pose. Yoga is hard work.
I know I'm not going to work on Chapter 5 tonight, so I guess I'll just have to read more of that Diane Mott Davidson mystery.
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