It's been a long time since I've lost count of the days and years of my life. Sometimes I wake up and think I'm still in the hut, that I'd just met Carlotta and soon she'd be over to help me rebuild. That Goopy is still a gurgling baby and Mona Lisa is just a thought that hasn't been realized yet. Then the chaos of this giant mansion wakes me, and I realize that two rooms over, sleeping angelically, is my great-great-great-granddaughter.
The house does occasionally grow and shrink. We recently lost Moonglow, who had lived very long for a horse. We were sad to see her go, but hopefully she and that wild child Freddie are reunited somewhere, racing through the heavens.
It's funny. When I dream, I'm still young, still strawberry blonde, still writing in the library to avoid Camillo's zealous Italian affection. When I'm awake, no one even remembers my name is Coralie. I am Granny, and will be for the next hundred hundred years. Oddly, both are happy lives. But only in this one can I spend a morning sipping gourmet coffee in the completed immortal museum built for my great-great-granddaughter. The baby I watched through the window and wondered about the future of. Only in this one am I a piece of immortality.
Eureka's museum is coming along nicely too. I admit I'm a bit jealous of her idea to have her formal sculpture done while she was heavily pregnant with Allegra. My sculptures are both in the same dress.
And of course, we've just added a new room. Always a happy occasion.
What can I say about Allegra? This isn't negative, on my honor, but she is probably the least obedient baby this house has seen. She loves hiding from the adults and giggling behind her tiny hands when we pretend not to be able to find her.
She's also not a big fan of sleeping alone in her nursery. She'll level whomever is putting her to bed and say, "Stay. Till sleep."
Most everyone will give into her, so Rosetta has taken over bed time. She always logics her way out of the situation. I love my stone-hearted granddaughter.
"No, Allegra," she says. "There are no ghosts. We put all the urns in a chest. It is literally impossible that one will show up."
"Umph!"
"Yes, please umph quietly."
She attempts this manipulation even at nap time, sometimes. "Crib scary."
"Nah, it's fine."
"No, Monna. Scary. You stay with me."
I'm not sure what to make of it. Toddler behaviors often change quite a lot as a child gets older. She certainly seems to have a very early knack for getting people to behave as she wishes.
She'll even climb into that treasure chest when she hears someone coming just in case she'll have the opportunity to be fussed over. "Oh where's Allegra!" seems to delight her to no end.
If no one comes, she makes the best of that situation and plays with one of her many, many toys.
Eureka spends more time than she likely ought to playing with Allegra rather than building widgets. I have to admit, I do rather like the jumping squid contraption she gave me a few months ago.
Mona Lisa even moved her whole studio down to the nursery for a while so Allegra wouldn't worry herself about being left alone.
In fact, Eureka has personally seen to much of Allegra's toddler training, despite our insistence that we have it under control.
Allegra seems to have this odd paranoia when learning skills that she is being watched and judged by an outside force. It'll go normally for a bit.
"Can you say Eur-ek-a?" Eureka asks, for some reason assuming the mystery plate in her thought bubble. "Eur-ee-ka."
"Mamamamama," says Allegra, fully aware that she is antagonizing her mother. "Mama."
"Eur-ee-ka"
"Hehe. Mama."
Then it'll get weird.
"Music? Con-cert?"
"Dey know, Mama!"
"Who? Knows what, darling?"
"Watching, Mama."
"We're alone here, my darling."
"Nah."
Eunice picked up a Genie themed bear at the consignment shop, which Allegra now clings to. It seems to have helped her spooky concerns.
Eden said, "Can we call him Kazaam?"
Allegra said. "No. Nonono. Jin-Jin."
Eden said, "Well, my idea was better."
Allegra said, "Nope."
Sometimes she takes to gnawing at Jin-Jin's ear. We're not sure why she does that.
The community is very curious about the new Classic immortal. Mona Lisa has had to thaw out a paparazzi outside of the nursery window no less than four times this winter. You'd think in gratitude, she'd leave us be.
Humberto, the darling boy, has stopped performing for tips due to the snow and attempts to steal his daughter away from the grandmothers when he can. She definitely loves her daddy.
"Can you say Dada? Dad-dy?"
"Humberto," Allegra says flatly.
"Well, I never!" he gasps in mock offense and scoops her up for a round of tickling.
I think our sixth immortal Classic has a bright future ahead of her. She is already showing a very distinct aptitude for music and almost never tries to eat the drumstick.
I don't mind dreaming of the old days, all in all. I do miss Carlotta and Camillo and our little house and meagre means. But all of this grand accomplishment ... well, that's quite something too. Don't you think?
