Struggling through with joy... |
kind of.
Struggling through with joy... |
My daughter trots in at 6:10, hair wild and eyes squinting against the light. “Can we write?” she asks. She’s caught on to my daily writing habit and I swear she wakes herself up so she can be a part of it.
We move out to the couch where there is more room for us, and I type while she sits with her journal in her lap and her purple pen scribbling away. She’s four and loves to write in what looks like pre-school cursive. She makes grocery lists. We need tortillas and coffee, she informs me, but no milk. She peppers me with questions and observations. “I didn’t like the egg drop soup,” she says. “M. doesn’t sit in circle time so the teacher gives him a puzzle.” A pause. “Do T. and I get Covid shots?” I can hardly complete a thought or a sentence. I am frustrated and touched by this time with her. In the past she preferred being with her father in his office, sitting on his lap while he typed or playing with trains on the floor. Now I’m the main event, and while I miss my time alone with my thoughts (a lot) I also recognize the preciousness of this time with her. My teacher brain revels in the idea that this is good for her development of fine motor and language skills, but I also know she might hate writing by the time she gets to school (please, no!) Nothing is guaranteed. My mother brain reminds me how fleeting these frustrating days are, how these small moments build bigger bonds. I love her deep brown eyes peeking out from the maelstrom of her bangs, the serious way she gazes at me as she tells me about the little kids who cry in her preschool class. I wonder if she’s ever one of those kids, my beautiful and moody girl. My writing partner.
1 Comment
3/11/2021 09:25:42 am
I love the way you have crafted this post! My kids are my favorite writing partners too - although they do make it difficult to get a lot done sometimes!
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