Technically, I was looking for her because, technically, she snuck off with a cup full of water. Which, any parent of any two-year old will tell you, is a dangerous thing.
I found her sitting on the (newly-new-carpeted) floor of my closet. She was happily pouring water from one cup to another, ignorant of the rest of the world (and of the high-tech entertainment going on in the next room).
Instead of getting on to her and breaking her little proud heart, I chose to take time to sit down on the floor next to her and ask her to play with me. She, of course, obliged.
We poured water back and forth in the cups, we blew air at each other from the straw, we cracked up at how silly we were. Occasionally I just sat and watched her work so hard at holding the cups the right way so as not to spill any liquid.
The whole thing reminded me of way back when I was an aide at a school for kids with developmental delays and disabilities. I loved working with the physical, occupational, and speech therapists. I loved seeing the kids have a breakthrough, after 99 attempts to do something so many people take for granted, and finally achieving their goal on the 100th try. So many kids love the tactile sensation therapy from sand and water tables, and The Baby is no different.
Together we came up with new ways to play with two cups, a straw, and a few ounces of water. We spent time together, away from her sibings, away from the tv, away from virtually all other stimuli, when I could have easily been doing 14 other things. Yes, I know she is just barely two, and yes I know she won't remember the time her crazy mother played with her under a tapestry of blue jeans and sweaters, but I'll remember it.
And when we spilled
Well, until her daddy stepped on it in his besocked feet. Then we were busted.