The other night this little one sat down beside me with a piece of paper and a pencil. She began writing, telling me she didn’t want me to watch.
I smiled to myself, thinking she was likely drawing a picture, wondering what the beautiful result of her marks would be.
But minutes later, when she inched the page over my way with a sad look in her eyes, my smile fell along with my heart.
Butterflies and mermaids weren’t fluttering and flipping on it like I had expected; instead, there were words:
“I’m worried I’m not ready for second grade.” Continue reading “We’ve Got This”
The street lamp outside my window is casting forth just enough light for me to make out the edges of my mother’s face. Her broad, high cheekbones curve down toward her chin, and her strong, straight nose slices across the darkness of my room.
Moments before, she closed our last book of the night and switched off my lamp, and now here she is, laying beside me, her fingers tracing shapes on my back, her quiet voice telling me a story.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Corey…
From my spot on the bed, in the dim light, I can faintly see the pictures hanging on the wall across from us. My eyes settle on the one with the small, wooden frame, the one that holds tiny words written in pastel, cross-stitched threads:
Cleaning and scrubbing can wait ’til tomorrow,
For babies grow up we’ve learned to our sorrow,
So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep,
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
Though I’m still little, I am old enough to know what the saying means: These moments won’t last so it’s best we hold them close. Continue reading “Week 51: Just One More, Mommy | Everyday Nostalgia”
I’m stage right, peeking out from behind a heavy curtain, waiting patiently for the audience members to take their seats. I do a little twirl and watch my glittery, sequined gown glisten, and when I’m finished, I reach up and smooth down my hair, preparing it for the crown that will surely be placed upon it within a matter of minutes.
Suddenly, I hear the first few notes of my entrance music: The pageant is about to begin.
* * *
Well, at least in my imagination, it is.
In reality, I’m 5 years old, it’s the mid-1980s, and I’m standing in the doorway of my wood-paneled living room, wearing OshKosh B’Gosh overalls and purple Velcro tennis shoes. My audience members are my mom and my 9-year-old brother, Kurt. While my father is there to enjoy the show as well, he’s also in charge of the audio/visual components. In front of me is my plastic orange and yellow Fisher Price shopping cart, and inside it, a wide variety of my toys. Continue reading “Week 46: The Memory-Making Magic of Music | Everyday Nostalgia”
I was against the idea from the beginning.
“A dog?” I had asked. “Like a real one?”
Having never grown up with pets, the thought of owning one slightly frightened me—they just seemed like so much work. Aside from that fear, there were also all the reasons that floated around my head, the ones that told me why getting a dog would be so irresponsible: There was the house we lived in, the one that was already too small for us to begin with. There was the broken fence, the one that certainly wouldn’t be able to keep a four-legged friend contained in the yard. There was the fact that no one would be home to let it out during the day. There was the added expense of the pet deposit and food and all of the other costs associated with owning a dog.
Like I said, I was convinced this was a terrible idea.
Yet here I am, holding a three-pound puppy in my hands, staring into a set of midnight-drenched eyes that stand out so starkly against a sea of fluffy, cream-colored fur. It yawns, revealing a tiny eraser-pink tongue, and then happily begins to lick my hand. It feels like sandpaper, and it tickles. Continue reading “Week 43: A Dog Named Dexter | Everyday Nostalgia”
We have to listen to the child we once were, the child who still exists inside us. That child understands magic moments. – Paulo Coelho
It’s 8:30 a.m. on Friday morning, a time that would normally find me sitting at my desk or sitting in a meeting or, even worse, still sitting in traffic. But today, this early morning hour finds me doing something different: although I am sitting, I’m on my living room floor, next to my daughter, Zoey, and there are crayons to the left of us, Legos to the right, and there we are, stuck in the middle of fun.
Parent-Teacher conferences are in full-swing at Zoey’s school, so she’s off for the day. And after scrambling earlier in the week to try to find a babysitter for her and then realizing I had a vacation day I could use, I am too.
This unexpected three-day weekend has Zoey so excited she can barely contain herself. Continue reading “Week 42: Why It’s Important to Channel Your Inner Child, No Matter Your Age”