Groundhog's Day

Last summer, sprinklers were an issue. Whenever I put the sprinkler on the lawn -- as in, every day -- we told Berit she could play in it. And, even on the hottest days, when she was truly considering it, she wouldn't go near the water. 

Every now and then, when passing a neighbor's sprinkler that was set up at the edge of the road to water toward their house (as in, it wouldn't sprinkle toward us, only away), Berit would come with me and ever-so-gently touch the spray of water coming off the big streams. 

We talked about sprinklers, showed her how they worked, whatever she wanted us to do to help her feel comfortable being outside at the same time the sprinkler was on. 

And yesterday, while we were eating lunch, I said, "...It's like a sprinkler." And she said in pure innocence, "Mom, what's a sprinkler?"

I said, "You know, a sprinkler -- with water? Like the one from outside?"

And she had no idea what I was talking about.

This kind of thing has happened lately with her memory. Things we did last summer or a year ago are completely wiped clean, and we teach it to her all over again. It's so funny!