A basket of folded laundry waits for me to stop avoiding it. It will have to learn to snore, too.
Blinds opened for sun on my shoulder, I can see four ducks trail up behind one another to carry on their mysterious geometry while they paddle the pond. Line, turn, line, turn, line. Suddenly, they sidle up the bank, following their fearless leader. He has decided where they will go for lunch.
Abby's happy morning voice is still in my head from preschool dropoff. Arriving to carline on time, she had a few minutes to unbuckle and play. She used that time to slowly place one pink and one purple plastic connecting stars on my face to see what I'd look like in star-shaped glasses. She watches me all the time, I can feel her eyes taking me in and putting me down somewhere for later. I will always disappoint her. This is one of those things moms must learn along the way.
Her innocence stares back at me in pictures now. I imagine her older, her vibrancy taken down a notch, quieted for her peers so she won't stand out. I miss her impossible shine already. There is nobody who exists more than my girl. She is all in.
My role is changing here and it makes me want to carve my name in all the trees.
Abby notices her brother doesn't want to play Leap Frog Hide & Seek anymore. She wants me to hide his Kindle on the weekends.
When Abby and I drove across a long bridge recently, she told me she can feel the earth spinning and see it moving on the rippling water. She asked me how to slow it down.
Such girls we are. Both of us trying like hell to achieve stillness...sameness... for just a little while.