Needless to say, we understand very little of what Liliana is saying, but it’s a riot to watch her go on and on.  She blinks her eyes and flips her hands about, as though she really is saying something.  Since we’re nearing Election Day (yep, it’s here, folks!), I’ll liken it to a politician (a lot of gesturing and posing and not a lot of substance, at least in the campaigning).

She smacks her lips and rolls her head back as if to say, “You’re not hearing me!”  She puts her hands on her hips and barks out commands.  While I sit on the extra dining room chair, she flings her pink purse over her shoulder and says, “Bye-bye,” fluttering her fingers and blowing kisses at me.  I say, “Bye-bye,” and she disappears into the mud room, only to come out seconds later, like she’s been overburdened by all she has had to accomplish.  She sighs loudly, then runs to get kisses from me.  Then, we start all over again.  “Bye-bye,” she says, running into the mud room.

She’s found my heavy metal pig, which I found in a Laguna Beach storefront several years ago while visiting my sister Worthy.  Normally, it’s in the bookcase with all the coffee table books, but every day Liliana sets it on the couch, to keep tabs on it.

The pig has always reminded me of Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web, but I don’t think it looks like that to everyone.  One of my book club members said it reminded her of dissection in 10th grade biology!  Oh heavens, my poor pig–to be thought dead and not just sleeping!  Anyway, Liliana lays it on the couch and coos over it, kissing it every once in a while, saying something very similar to “sleeping,” since that’s what I say every time we hover over it, pointing to its ears, then eyes, then nose.

Then it’s Liliana’s nap time, and I have to say, “Liliana has to sleep now,” and she tilts her head and wrinkles her nose and backs up one step.  “No,” she’s saying.  “I want to play some more.”  I pick her up, and she wraps her arms around me and squeezes tight.

Ah.  If only I could take a nap right now.