Monday, 21 December 2009
The Girl has not had an easy time of it these last few days. Two wobbly teeth are aching to come out. She caught her finger in a door, and we spent five hours in the emergency room yesterday. And she is watching all her belongings packed into boxes and brought to our new home.
So today I brought her to the first place we rented in Ireland, which she barely remembers. We knocked on the door, and a very obliging woman allowed us to walk into the house and look around.
"I remember this!" She said, looking around. "I used to play there with Diarmuid," a friend's child I babysat when they were toddlers.
Yes, this was your home, I said. And moving from it was scary at the time -- but soon you got used to your new home.
On the way back, we talked about moving -- we won't move far, I said. Just to our land -- that's why we've been staying in a rented house while we built. There you can feed chickens, and we can fish in the canal, and work on the garden. We have all your toys, the same as before - they are just packed away, and we will unpack them in the new house.
"And you'll be there," she said.
Yes, I will. I'm not going anywhere.
"I love you, Papa."
Photo: The Girl learning to use a spinning wheel.