How does Helen's mind work?

Is it being three, or is it being Helen? This is a story that really should have photo illustrations, but like all the best stories, they happen before a camera can be procured.

I had just gotten home from work and was ready to put on some "mommy" clothes. While stripping work clothes, I was keeping up a conversation with Helen. I usually do this, just so I can keep tabs on where she is and what she is up to.

"Helen, what do you think I should put on today?" [For the record, rhetorical questions are a terrible idea with a 3-year-old. Since I already knew what I wanted to wear, I was just asking for trouble.]

"Nothing," Helen replied, matter-of-factly but in a tone that tolerated no argument.

"Hmm...then how can I leave the house after lunch to go to the store and buy groceries?" I asked, thinking I had an airtight case. But Helen was not to be so easily cowed.

"Let me think..." she offered, playing for time.

Since I was getting cold, I wasn't sure how long I could wait on the whims of a 3-year-old. "Umm, I think I will just put my jeans on."

"No!" Helen shrieked, alarmed. "Let me think!" She sat down on the edge of my bed, head bowed and face covered by both hands. "Quiet, please..." she muttered at me in an irritated tone. I didn't realize it then, but she was still hard at work on my question - how to put nothing on, and yet get to the store to buy groceries.

After a pause long enough to leave me shivering, she looked up. "I've got it! Dad will make the house fly!"

Umm...huh? "Okay, how will he do that?"

"He can put feathers on it!" (Duh!)

While I spent the next few minutes figuring out that a flying house was her solution to get to the store without leaving the house, she started nagging..."When (oh when!) will Daddy get to the feather store?"

There is nothing quite like the literal mind of a 3-year-old. Or is it Helen?

Baby birds learn to fly

From outside the nest, it seems that a baby bird learns to fly almost all at once. There is just a helpless chick, then one day a chick stretching and flapping her wings, and then the next day the nest is empty. 

But now I know, a baby bird learns to fly in uncountable different steps, most happening so rapidly that we only discover them when we look backward. 

Some steps are tearful, 

Credits: imgarcade.com

some are jubilant, 

Credits: urbanpeek.com

some are barely perceptible. 

Credits: wallpaperhere.com

The only truly common denominator is that all are bittersweet. How is it that my own baby bird could be cruising down the sidewalk on her own 2-wheeled bike, faster than I can keep up walking, while I still have her toddler seat attached to my bike? Since I somehow missed the obvious time to remove it, I may just keep it, now. Bittersweet.

Writer's Block is a drag, but so is writer's overload

Could it really be almost 5 months since my last post? Such radio silence is usually reflects a complex situation...too busy to post, or not busy at all (meaning undisciplined with my time). Nothing to say, or too much to say (so I don't know where to start).

Whatever the case, it seems that the words pressure is building. In the past week, I have frequently found myself composing in my mind. The only cure for this is to start writing things down. And yes, I must cure it, because otherwise I become increasingly, and dangerously, internally focused. At some point, I have to quit writing stories in my head and start taking care of life again. So... my goal is to write a bunch over the next few weeks. I hope life cooperates with that.