As you can tell, Mommy has let time slip away from her in writing in your book. This has absolutely nothing to do with you or a lack of you doing anything amazing or saying something funny.
On the contrary—you do incredible things every day. And I guarantee that I notice each and every single one. Like how you fill a room up with happiness simply by smiling. Or how the other day at Target, you sat down, took your shoes off, and ran down practically every aisle barefoot and laughing like it was the best thing ever. Or how lately you’ve been afraid of the dark, and you hold my hand for reassurance as you fall asleep.
It’s late Sunday morning, and my daughter Zoey and I are dropping my father off at the airport. We have been lucky enough to enjoy two weekends with him this past month, so we feel downright spoiled, but our fun has come to and end: it’s finally time for him to head back home.
Zoey hops out of the car and steps into my dad’s arms. When he picks her up, Zoey’s arms and legs wrap around him so easily and so quickly, it’s almost as if this hug of hers is a muscle memory, the childhood equivalent of riding a bike or typing on a keyboard.
I stand next to the car watching Zoey, at her tiny head nestled gently against his shoulder. She looks at me, her face almost expressionless, and then she leans back and gives him a tiny kiss. After they exchange I love you’s, he sets Zoey down and gives me a hug. We stand shoulder to shoulder, and as we watch Zoey climb back into the car, my dad puts his arm around me, gives me a little squeeze, and says, “You’re doing just fine.” The slight nod of my head agrees with him.Continue reading “Remember Reminder #15: It’s Okay to Be Vulnerable”
Let’s face it: Unless you are fortunate to live along the California coast or somewhere south of, say, Las Vegas, February is cold.
And it’s not the exciting cold of a November or December day that invokes visions of sleigh rides and jingle bells. No, February cold is an angry cold. A depressing cold. It’s the kind of cold that makes you want to daydream of white sand beaches and coconut palm trees, but instead you think of Bill Murray’s line in Groundhog Day: “I’ll give you a winter prediction. It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be grey, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.”
The other day as I drove to work, a slick sheen of ice (“freezing drizzle” they called it) covered the roads while fog and low-hanging clouds darkened the sky. A thought crossed my mind as I white-knuckled the steering wheel: