Hope has a new hobby. After months of encouragement -- some quite silly -- that involved exaggerated jumping up and down, shimmying and shaking in front of her, and so many "pat-a-cake" games that the baker man has filed a union grievance, Hope is finally clapping.
We come up to her, wiggle about and clap like we've seen a monkey solve a Rubik's Cube. She puts her hands together, ever so hesitantly, in delight. And we squeal like the aforementioned monkeys.
It's been a gradual evolution. For a while, Hope would simply clasp her hands like a contemplative Nelson Mandela. She liked it so much she would sleep with her hands together, evoking those corny but be-still-my-heart illustrations of praying kids that are in dens of grandmothers everywhere.
Then, for what seemed like months, Hope would slowly bring her hands together, discover something off in the distance and forget what she was doing. Then, at long last, she finally put it all together and is clapping like she was in the Catskills.
Mo is pleased as punch. So am I. So put your hands together for the girl who's finally putting her hands together.