jail-heart

jail-heart

Last night Barbara (my mother-in-law) came over for a visit.  While she was here, in the kitchen, Aveline approached her and said something to the effect of, “Hey Bamma (Grandma), remember when you had a hurt foot? . . . And you had to wear a boot to walk?”  Barb and I looked at each other, astonished.  She had had surgery and used a walking boot during her recovery.  “When was that?” I asked.  Barb answered, “The last time I wore the boot was almost exactly two years ago.”  That would put Aveline at all of 1 1/2 years old at that time.  I didn’t believe that Aveline just spontaneously remembered that, according to my day to day experience with her, it is highly improbable.  I asked Barbara if she had mentioned it to her recently, she said no.  

So today, I brought it up and asked Aveline if maybe her cousins had been talking about grandma’s boot at the party on Sunday — Or if she had spotted a photo somewhere depicting grandma in her boot.  “No,” Aveline answered, “I just remembered it . . . It was in my mind.  It was floating around and I just babbed (grabbed) it and I moobed (moved) it, I moobed it with my heart-hand into my jail-heart and locked it up so it wouldn’t get away.”  She even knows right where her jail-heart is, she showed me, it’s near her regular heart, but higher and more to her left.  I told her I think that I have one, too and I wonder if mine is in the same spot as hers.  She said, “Mom, could you tell me stories from when you were a little girl?”  “Sure baby, let me just find the key to my jail-heart.”