physical

Thirty seconds running circles around a tree chasing her longer legged uncle must have been a Houdini act for Amelia. I escaped her until she stopped and, I know, was curious if I was gone. She likes walking on the road and squatting behind trees enough with our wood rifles that our fun has continued in the basement after we take off our shoes. She was once excited to hang from the pull up bar. Maybe because I have asked so much or said I was going downstairs to exercise and expected her to follow has she said no. But recently after introducing her to something new that includes me with one wood rifle and her with one wood rifle, there is a kind of conversation. Sound travels from unseen places across the valley. Once, it was an early-puberty-on-course Justin Goudy breaking waves with his trombone. I listened for him outside on our cordless phone waiting to speak again while I listened for some unusual horn sound.

I would say, "Shh!" and now she tells me, "Shh!" A plane or a bird, but I'd like her to hear a horse's shoes because from this distance they are audible.

She understands now not to turn the rifle upside down to pull the trigger. She shoots things right on the road, behind her and ahead of her. I know she does shoot horse manure. She pointed at something on the side of the road and shot, and I asked what she shot, and she said dirt.

She always asks, "Why?" to "We gotta go in," but she moves up the yard or driveway without complaint. There's no time if I look like I'll start jogging.

She wanted to go in the basement. I always have her jump to reach the pull up bar, but she probably couldn't touch my shoulders if I were not leaning over. She'll hang there and then I start pushing her in the whole one foot surface area around her stomach, sternum and chest. My other hand might support her butt and back legs or hold off a couple inches behind her. You feel when someone pulls, you know, when they are trying hard. She does it too. When I would push her 100% she would count - often skipping numbers 13-18. I'm not looking for her to count for this. Just have her eyes on me and know that I am serious - as serious as - about her pulling up.

I just laughed out loud to myself. How serious is it when it's not her chin she tries to eclipse the bar with but lick it with her tongue? At least eight straight times did she lap the bar, leave definite saliva and look for my reaction. I only said something after she stood on the floor again where she innocently admitted it.

I'll say things like, "You want some? You want some?" when I'm punching the overhang bag. She stood nearby when I began then stood on a chair and safely slipped when trying to step down. She's usually not that close. Sometimes sitting on the bottom step or in a corner where she's been known to make breakfast with the pop cans. She had just slipped and stood again. I was laying in with hard one-and-done punches with a long follow through. She stepped from my right side across my body to my middle - I bet right where my center of gravity says the fist and arm motion should end. Before I hit her I saw where I would hit and that it would hurt.

The speed was certainly slow, but she had been hit between her nasal bone and corner of her right eye. Squatting on my knees, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Stop for a second. "I am sorry, I'm sorry." It's okay that Amelia described it through her crying as, "He punched me." How can I say this - she walked into it.

It earned her a quick trip to the recliner and the movie of her familiar choice. A big and small divided pink plate with a serving of food. A blanket covering her crossed legs for a little warmth and a table for her plate. After I dressed for the night, she looked away from the television and totally looked at me and kind of smiled all over when I told her goodbye.