The little angel is finally walking.  She has discovered the irresistible drug that is upright movement, and she is taking a hit every chance she gets.  She's also discovered if she's upright, she can whee! run away.

Last night my friend S. watched her while my beloved and I dusted off the road bikes that have not seen action since last year's MS-150.  My odometer still read "102" from my century day back in September.  Yeah, it's now June.  Almost July.  Um, we wanted a little break. 

When we returned, S. had made the little angel a crown out of clover.  She looked like a cherub, even though she was wearing her dinner on her shirt and daycare on her pants.  A cherub who, a half-hour later, was gleefully streaking across the house threatening to pee on any carpet that tried to stop her.

This morning when I dropped her off, Mrs. W. informed me that since the little angel is now walking, the entire class can go out to the little-kid playground at the Emerald City.  She tried to soften it by saying they had also been waiting for S., who started walking a month ago.  Wah!  The little angel held back a whole class?  Supreme control or delayed progress?  I just don't know.  I guess it doesn't bode well for me that she is already forcing entire groups of people to operate on her schedule.  Mrs. W. informed she would probably be coming home EVEN DIRTIER than she is now after being introduced to the playground while still sometimes crawling.  Dirtier than now?  Dirtier than pants that shocked S. when she realized they looked like that after ONE DAY at daycare? Dirtier than shirts that must be changed before embarking into polite society? I guess that's the good thing about daycare.  It sort of forces you to cede control over things like dirt and food stains.  I suppose this is all good preparation for (eek) soccer.