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”
I’m standing in the elevator, waiting for it to reach our floor. My foot taps an impatient rhythm as my arms hold my daughter, Zoey. She is beyond upset that we have just said goodbye to my mom—her beloved Grammy Sue—so she is loudly, and messily, sobbing into my shoulder, her cries reverberating in my ears. Her wet tears, the ones trickling down my skin, are the closest thing I’ve come to a shower this morning.
The elevator opens, and I walk into the hall toward our apartment. As Zoey’s tears slowly subside, she begins to feel heavier in my arms: I can tell she’s simply worn out. After we’re in the comfort of our home, I set Zoey down and she plods slowly toward the living room, her shoulders lower than usual. As I watch her walk away, I see raindrops start to splatter against the windows, and in that moment, I feel my own tiredness settle in. Continue reading “Week 30: The Luxuriousness of a Lazy Day | Everyday Nostalgia”
It’s dinnertime, and my daughter Zoey and I go about our nightly routine.
Zoey sits at the kitchen table and studies this week’s spelling words as I finish getting our meal ready. It’s fresh fruit and veggies and homemade mac and cheese. When I finally place our dinner on the kitchen table, Zoey’s face lights up — it’s one of her favorites. She moves her pencil and paper out of the way and pulls her bowl closer.
“Come sit next to me, Mommy,” Zoey says, as she points to the chair next to hers.
I accept her offer and take my rightful place at the empty seat next to Zoey. She tells me about her school day as she begins eating her dinner. For a while I don’t even eat; I quietly sit and listen to this tiny girl, sitting at the table in her little red polo shirt and plaid wool skirt, chattering on about her friends and art class and the day’s lunchtime shenanigans. And as she talks, I can’t help but be reminded of a girl I once knew. Continue reading “Week 17: The Empty Seat (A Story of Acceptance) | Everyday Nostalgia”