There is no classroom in the world big enough for this

Sometimes she looks around the room like she’s seeing it for the first time.  Her eyes scan the same furniture, pillows and clutter that have been there since the day we brought her home, but all of a sudden she notices them.  She stops at the sound of the icemaker or the dryer running, gets very still and just listens.  When she sees a photo of me, Craig or herself, she stops and she smiles.  She reaches out her hand and giggles when her fingers touch the cool glass.   

This morning, as I watched C absorb her surroundings, I thought about all of the things that she will learn from us and the many things that she will teach us.  From her father and I, her grandparents and our close friends she will see how adults treat each other.  She will learn to understand how the inflection of a person’s voice says something different than the words that cross their lips.  She will see listen as we talk about our days and the people we work with.  She will hear the words we use and start to repeat them.  She may mirror our personalities, our outlook on the world, and our appetite for negativity or optimism. 

And from her we will learn forgiveness and innocence.  When she beams at me as I pick her up after a nap, I know she’s already forgotten that I was frustrated with her when she was cranky a mere two hours before.  When she crawls toward the same corner of the couch that she banged her head off, I know that she’s forgotten that it hurt her.  When she reaches for the simple things in our house like flowers and buttons and the fringe on a blanket, I know that happiness is found in the small things.  And when she grins at her father, or reaches for me I understand what unconditional love means.