Thump, thump, thump. The urgent patter of feet. She runs on her heels with her shoulders thrown forward in the least fluid motion possible but everywhere she runs. "Doin Mommy? Doin? Whatcha makin? Where's Daddy? Kids! Come on kids! Come on! Let's go to Costco Mommy! Hazel want to go swimming. The zoo!?! We go to the zoo today? Candy!? Candy?! Mommy cuddle Hazel!" The list goes on and never ends. She rushes from building trains to doing puzzles to playing with her babies with an urgency I've never seen.
Her sweet breath is on my face. Her soft little hand twiddles my necklace and she is with me. We spend day after day alone just the two of us and she is my shadow. In the kitchen I hear the harsh dragging as she pulls a barstool to whatever I am doing and hangs at my shoulder, offering encouragement and constant wheedling for tastes of whatever I'm making and taking every opportunity to dip her finger in the sugar bowl. She unfolds the towels and makes a bed. She begs to scrub the toilets. She jumps in the middle of the bed as I make it. She pulls every ounce of my energy from me even as she refills me with peace.
We read books, spend hours at the library, go to art class, to swimming, to the park... to whatever she asks for. And though it shouldn't, it feels like a path worn too deep. Each moment that I give her joy and watch her learn, I am thrilled but through the process I sigh. I wonder why I'm still walking a track that I've never mastered and has gone on much longer than I anticipated. She doesn't deserve such a sentiment but there it always is.
She sees her sister's homework and says "Hazel color KK's homework?" I say "do you think she would like that?" She smiles smugly and says "yes".
She shadows down the stairs stealthily and softly enters my room past bedtime. Her hand is on the door, she tips her chin down and lifts her eyes and says "poopy Mommy." Jody rolls his eyes and says, "she's playing that card again." I say "show me" she rushes to my bed throws her arms across it and says "Hazel cuddle you."
She lays on the couch with me and asks me to make my leg into a triangle which she thinks is so clever. Then she smooths her hand over my neck back and forth and says "think Mommy, think." I say "Think what?" She says "think Sota" After all of those flights to MN and AR she isn't quite sure where she went but she wants to go back so bad. She mentions it every day.
She is there when I cry. She lightly brushes her fingers up and down my arm and says "sad Mommy? miss Poppy? Poppy in heaven with Journey." Yes, she's my gift from a gracious God and I can't help but call her my best friend. And as she comforts me, I remember being at my Granny's funeral and holding my dad's hand. I watched for tears too. And I wanted to comfort him. As her little hands hold me, I know that I did comfort him and it's a small balm on a raw wound that I can't imagine will ever heal.
Her sweet breath is on my face. Her soft little hand twiddles my necklace and she is with me. We spend day after day alone just the two of us and she is my shadow. In the kitchen I hear the harsh dragging as she pulls a barstool to whatever I am doing and hangs at my shoulder, offering encouragement and constant wheedling for tastes of whatever I'm making and taking every opportunity to dip her finger in the sugar bowl. She unfolds the towels and makes a bed. She begs to scrub the toilets. She jumps in the middle of the bed as I make it. She pulls every ounce of my energy from me even as she refills me with peace.
We read books, spend hours at the library, go to art class, to swimming, to the park... to whatever she asks for. And though it shouldn't, it feels like a path worn too deep. Each moment that I give her joy and watch her learn, I am thrilled but through the process I sigh. I wonder why I'm still walking a track that I've never mastered and has gone on much longer than I anticipated. She doesn't deserve such a sentiment but there it always is.
She sees her sister's homework and says "Hazel color KK's homework?" I say "do you think she would like that?" She smiles smugly and says "yes".
She shadows down the stairs stealthily and softly enters my room past bedtime. Her hand is on the door, she tips her chin down and lifts her eyes and says "poopy Mommy." Jody rolls his eyes and says, "she's playing that card again." I say "show me" she rushes to my bed throws her arms across it and says "Hazel cuddle you."
She lays on the couch with me and asks me to make my leg into a triangle which she thinks is so clever. Then she smooths her hand over my neck back and forth and says "think Mommy, think." I say "Think what?" She says "think Sota" After all of those flights to MN and AR she isn't quite sure where she went but she wants to go back so bad. She mentions it every day.
She is there when I cry. She lightly brushes her fingers up and down my arm and says "sad Mommy? miss Poppy? Poppy in heaven with Journey." Yes, she's my gift from a gracious God and I can't help but call her my best friend. And as she comforts me, I remember being at my Granny's funeral and holding my dad's hand. I watched for tears too. And I wanted to comfort him. As her little hands hold me, I know that I did comfort him and it's a small balm on a raw wound that I can't imagine will ever heal.
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