In a few minutes I will begin the task of prying Clare away from her beloved Dora and getting her dressed. Most days this can be tricky but today I know that I just have to say the magic words: "big daddy church."
See, she loves church. And, lucky girl, she has two churches to love now. Last week, we took the train into NYC and then hopped on the A to Brooklyn. And all the way she talked about going to the Brooklyn church. She told total strangers she was going to the Brooklyn church. She talked about Ira and especially Sophia, her five-year-old hero and idol. She talked about going to class. She even gave a spontaneous and only slightly garbled rendition of a song I recognized from the CD of class songs.
So today we'll get dressed and instead of a long train ride, we'll walk across the lawn to Calvary. She'll hold my hand and drag me along in her excitement, and we'll stop and say hi to the fish on our way to her classroom. Later I'll pick her up and bring her in for Eucharist, and we'll go up to the rail and she'll point and exclaim "Daddy! there's Daddy!" while I try to shush her. Then we'll sit back down and she'll look around in wonder at the large, beautiful space surrounding her, and be awed into silence by the organ music that still entrances her with its volume and grandness. And after church, we'll go out on the lawn and she'll see Cimi, whom I think she has a crush on, and she'll try to catch Martha the cat, who knows well enough by now to stay, if not out of sight, at least out of reach.
Then we'll walk back across the lawn, "following the squares," and we'll eat a quick lunch and then it's time for a nap.