Amy is now four years old and living in Canberra. At the time I wrote the following diary entry, on January 11, 2014, my grand daughter was in Darwin and so we were able to spend a lot of time together. This little story is from a time almost three months after her third birthday.
I felt a little badly yesterday. In the afternoon, when Amy was in our care for a few hours, I was reluctantly drawn into her imaginary wedding game.
— You de goom and I de bide, orwight?
— But I’m already married.
— Dat OK. We jut petend.
I really didn’t want to take part in another wedding ceremony, so after Amy asked me to admire her ‘bootiful’ veil, dress and shoes, we settled into our imaginary car (sitting on an actual wooden table). This was evidently to be a modern wedding for her baby was safely secured in the capsule behind us.
I told Amy that the place we were headed for was 475 kilometres away, and that it would take us about four hours to get there.
— Dat orwight, she said quickly and cheerfully.
So we set off on our long, imaginary drive. Apart from the noise I was making, to represent a car cruising at the legal speed limit, nothing else was happening. We sat side by side, staring straight ahead. The minutes passed. Amy seemed perfectly content, even though it should have been turning into a long, boring drive.
—It’s still a long way to go, I reminded her. The place is at least four hours away.
— Dat orwight.
Amy remained resolutely cheerful, perfectly content, and completely understanding.
At this point, to Amy’s chagrin, her father returned to collect her.
— I’m going to a wedding, she said crossly. I’m not ready yet!