Nunnery nonsense

This Autumn has been wonderful. One of my goals for today (before I saw the forecast for rain) was to rake the leaves in the yard and allow Lilah to frolic in them for the first time. I was very upset because the giant tree in our backyard has so many leaves and I was only okay with the inevitability of raking millions of them because I'd get to see the colors change first. However, as the season progressed I saw the leaves change from bright green to dark green to dirty orangeish brown. I narrow my eyes at the tree whenever I look out into my backyard. I feel cheated. Like it knew all along and should have mentioned something.

Today was my bi-monthly mandatory *cough* bullshit *cough* meeting. Lilah and I went in the back employee door and I clocked in, only to find that the meeting was held in the front lobby. We have a very long building. It took 13 minutes to get where we were going. She stopped and talked to everyone along the way. She hugged Ananya from PT, she waved to patients and family members, she poked her head into offices to check for inhabitants.

I took Lilah with me because mostly when she's there people fawn over her rather than hold the meeting so I shave about 20 minutes off the time I spend at work on my day off. It worked like a charm. I really have no idea what the meeting was about and neither does anyone else. I repeated her name, age, height, weight, and favorite foods about 27 times, and everyone knows lots of fun things about her. Mission accomplished.

After the meeting we waited in the lobby for Dano to pick us up and Lilah peered into the pumpkins and said, "A ball, Mama!" I kept telling her they were pumpkins but she kept looking at me like I was crazy. They were big, round, and orange. They were clearly balls. After an exuberant greeting for everyone in the lobby, she watched the birds in the cage for a moment before spotting a 3 foot wooden statue of Sister Catherine of the Irish Sisters of Mercy Foundation, the founders of the Trinity Health System I work for. Lilah cautiously approached Sister Catherine (a thin, pale figure in dark garb and hood with a mouth that looks as if it had sampled a lemon recently drawn up into a wan smile). Lilah cocked her head to the side and said, "Hi!" They were eye to eye. Sister Catherine said nothing, moved not a wooden muscle, only stared her stately, frozen stare. Lilah offered several more "Hi!"s with no change noted in Sister Catherine's response. Lilah was not to be deterred from conquering even the most unamused person in the building. She threw her arms around Sister Catherine's spare frame in a carefree and loving embrace. Several things happened simultaneously in that moment. Lilah's weight shifted forward as she stood on her tiptoes to really give this hug her all. Sister Catherine teetered back on her base, then tipped forward into Lilah's waiting (albeit unprepared) little arms. Lilah's expression changed instantly from the wild ecstasy ("Hug, Mama!") to concern ("Uh-oh!") to utter panic ("Aaah!") as the unfortunate duo toppled to the floor. I was laughing hysterically as the other people in the lobby watched on in horror and concern. As with any other fall Lilah Rose experiences, I let her reaction dictate mine (even though I've bitten through my own lip not crying out and running to pick her up before). If she cries, I pick her up to comfort her. If she gets up and carries on, I don't do a thing. But she always looks at me first to see my face. My eyes met my daughter's (Sister Catherine's unfortunate eyes were buried in Lilah's sternum) and Lilah said, "Sorry, Mama!" I just laughed and helped her up, setting the likely-mortified Sister Catherine back upright. Lilah gave her one more pat on the shoulder and said goodbye to her before taking my hand and walking...right into the glass door.