This morning is a sunny one, the rain has finally stopped for a day. It's beautiful and bright outside, the light streams on through our kitchen windows, it gave us that sweet summer feeling when we had breakfast together.
It's her last day of school before summer. I remember that feeling so well, a sense of excitement, a feeling of freedom, a strange notion of transition, movement into something new. Now, two months of summer break, a wonderful little eternity of openness.
It's her last day in second grade, and she is so big and so little, all in one body. She still wants to hold my hand in public. She still wants me to read to her in the evenings, and she cries sometimes when she hurts herself. She crawls up on my lap every day, snuggling up to me, my baby. Not knowing about the changes she will go through, she lives her days happily, wonderfully absorbed into the beautiful details of life. She doesn't worry.
She is genuine, beautiful, warm, radiant. I hold her hand tightly and hope that she will shine through the awkwardness of adolescence, that she'll be my baby, always.
It's her last day of school before summer. I remember that feeling so well, a sense of excitement, a feeling of freedom, a strange notion of transition, movement into something new. Now, two months of summer break, a wonderful little eternity of openness.
It's her last day in second grade, and she is so big and so little, all in one body. She still wants to hold my hand in public. She still wants me to read to her in the evenings, and she cries sometimes when she hurts herself. She crawls up on my lap every day, snuggling up to me, my baby. Not knowing about the changes she will go through, she lives her days happily, wonderfully absorbed into the beautiful details of life. She doesn't worry.
She is genuine, beautiful, warm, radiant. I hold her hand tightly and hope that she will shine through the awkwardness of adolescence, that she'll be my baby, always.