Rain clings to the screen window, warping the view of the street around its shaded bubbles, like polka dots hanging in the air.  When it rains the waiting water on the ground will dance.  This is not a dancing rain.  The drops are many, but so minuscule the glittering film awaiting below doesn’t acknowledge the impacts.  An occasional porch light glares through the gray.  It’s Saturday, but the windows are dark, like the sky.  The street looks freshly deserted.

“Mama.”  Hana’s imitations of Cadence are getting better.  Sometimes I hesitate, trying to figure out which child is calling me.

She’s secured in her high chair, plucking generic honeycomb cereal from the tray, another hand resting on her bottle of milk.  She sees me peeking from the corner, trying to observe her unseen.  Her expressions ping pong between happiness and irritation.  The latter wins, her eyebrows drooping in straight Oscar the Grouch mode.  Her chin presses into her neck.  I laugh.  She’s gotten that look down.  Her head and eyebrows lift.  She smiles, proud of her little trick.

The house has become her jungle gym this last month.  She’s climbed to the top of every couch, bed, and table, and fallen from half of them.  Her latest battle wound is a scabby, swollen top lip.  I think hard to remember which fall caused it.

The playdate of course.  The friends’ floor had been wet from children running from the wading pool to the kitchen.  Hana had been its victim.  Poor girl, wasn’t even climbing then.  I remember being mesmerized by the scent of white chocolate fondant frosting, a smell that lingered in my memory all day, when I heard the all too familiar thunk.

At first the wound was lost in the mess of red liquorice spit and blood.  Was she hurt?  Was it just liquorice?  But some of the liquid was too red, the wrong kind of red.

She doesn’t seem to notice it now.  I pull the lever on her tray until it slides away from her.  As soon as her feet touch the floor, she’s running.  She stops at the top of the stairs listening to the sounds of Mulan from downstairs, and staring confused at the gray background behind the window.

I guess postponing the river rafting was a good idea.