As I watched Jet try to fit blocks and other objects into empty containers, I was inspired to give her a cup of rigatoni to add to the mix. She loved it. Filling, emptying, shaking, and pouring with rigatoni has occupied her for more than 2 weeks. Because the noodles are a potential choking hazard, I reserve them for use only under my watchful eye.
“My roni!” she demands.
“You want your rigatoni?” I ask.
“Pweese!” she insists.
I get the rigatoni from the kitchen. Jet squeals with delight the moment she sees it. “Yay!” she claps. She can hardly wait to get her hands on it. The bottles are arranged and filled. The caps are switched. The contents are emptied and filled again. Her attention is fully fixed on the process. She doesn’t even notice the sound of the mailman leaving the daily ads.
“Gramma shake it,” she says, handing me a bottle. We shake bottles of rigatoni together and sing.
“Zum gali, Zum gali gali,” we sing as we march around the room and up and down the hallway. “Zum gali gali!”
After a while, Grandma becomes tired and sits down with a yawn.
“Gramma sleepy?” Jet inquires solicitously.
“Yes, Grandma’s tired,” I tell her.
“Gramma put you head down here,” she says, patting the couch. I oblige her.
“Gramma hold her,” is Jet’s next request.
“You want to snuggle?” I ask.
“Help,” she says, struggling to get up on the couch. I offer assistance and she pushes into my arms, but quickly raises her head again. “Marcy?!” she calls. “Marcy come,” she says, pointing to the sliver of space between us.
I click my tongue and Marcy walks up my legs and stretches out along my side. Good thing she’s a Havanese. We are all still for about 10 seconds, until Jet notices the unattended “roni.” She slides off the couch and returns to the important business of learning how the world works.