Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Evil Eye Cherry Pie

Today Nutmeg got her baby doll and said, "Baby play blocks." She used the baby's hand to push the lid off the box of Lego Quattros, then told the doll, "Great job, baby!" The she had the baby's hand push the button on her train, again and again. Then she tried to put a wooden block in each of the doll's stiff hands, and said, "Thank you, Nutmeg."

Now Epu is putting her to bed, indulging in a little father-daughter talking and singing. This is one of these days when I look at this little blond child -- so different than I imagined any child of mine would look, yet just exactly as I imagined she would be in many ways -- and fear I feel the evil eye flicker across us. Like nothing can be this perfect. Like this child is too like a child actress in a made-for-TV movie, playing the perfectly beautiful and charming child who of course gets stricken down by something dreadful.

Fortunately, all the millions of problems and drudge tasks in the house and outside of it then crop up in my peripheral vision. Look, I tell the evil eye. Look how far from perfect my life is. For god's sake, look at the inside of my microwave oven! Look at my fridge! Look at this parking ticket I forgot to pay that has now doubled! None of the tv movie people have these things going on. So we're good.

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